Cheater

37. Chloe

I’m saved from answering his question by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and puts it to his ear with a little smile.

“Well, hello,” he drawls, eyes bouncing to me. “She’s right here. Why?”

I watch him moisten his lips with his tongue and then he says, “Ah. Yes, we’ve been busy. Here she is.”

He passes me the phone.

Alannah Fisher.

“Hey,” I say, my voice coming out scratchy.

My bag is still in his car. She probably called me first.

“You did not send your proof of life text, missy.”

“Shit, sorry,” I say, feeling my face flame. “I’m alive.”

He walks out of the room.

“Should I assume you’re fine going forward so not to expect them?”

“You should expect them,” I say softly, noting the footsteps have stopped. He’s probably standing directly outside the door, listening.

“Then you’re not fine?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I think. I… I don’t know. My morning was a little… crazy.”

She snorts. “Crazy morning with the crazy guy?”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you hurt? Hungry? Injured?”

“No, no, and no. Well… maybe hungry.”

“Didn’t you have that brunch thing with his family?”

“I did.”

“But?”

“But I didn’t eat.”

“Why?”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“He’s there so you can’t talk, right?”

“Ish. Except to say that right now we’re in the house in Dublin.”

“The house in Dublin?” she parrots.

“The house,” I emphasize.

The sound of footsteps in the hall resumes, then recedes. Maybe he’s gone into one of the other bedrooms.

“The house?” Alannah asks blankly.

“The house. The dream house I wanted but didn’t think I’d ever have.”

“Explain.”

“Remember that house I was obsessing about before Adam’s accident? Well, Derek bought it for me.”

“He what?”

“He saw it on my bookmarks and in my web history, so he bought it for me.”

“Holy fuck,” she whispers.

“For a hundred k over asking to get the guy to move out immediately, leaving it furnished, so we could move in today.”

“Whoa.”

“Whoa is right. Fires started in all the fireplaces. Roses and champagne on the counter.”

“Fire in your panties, too?” she asks.

I scoff and wander into the dazzling walk-in closet that you access from the bathroom. Yep, it’s in that same neon green, but God is it gorgeous otherwise. My things are here. The few things I brought with me Friday night along with all he had the talented Nicola procure for me. I coined it my dream gawdy green, gorgeous girl garage. Because I would put all my favorite things in here. And it looks even better in person than it did on the real estate listing. So many shelves, nooks, and drawers. Places for my necklaces. For my not-large but very beloved and carefully bargain-sourced shoe and handbag collection. A side with plenty of storage for my dream husband’s suits, his jeans, his hoodies that I’d undoubtedly borrow. Right now some of Derek’s clothes are here, too. Whatever he had in that condo, I imagine.

I wonder how comfy Derek’s hoodies are. I touch one that’s tucked into a cubby. The arms would hang way off my hands. Like that wine colored henley of his that I put on after the first time we…

I shake my thoughts off. Hard. I force myself to clue in to what Alannah is saying. She’s called my name.

“My clothes were moved over while we were at brunch. Not really my clothes, mind you. The new and perfect bespoke wardrobe Derek bought for me.”

“This explains why I’m meeting you guys at the city hall, then?”

“Huh?”

“That’s what he sent me in a text last night.”

“Text?”

“You weren’t listening, were you? 11:30. Tomorrow. Derek texted me to be there to stand up for you as your maid of honor. Not there but in a town twenty minutes from there.”

“Uh…” is all I manage.

“He hasn’t told you.”

“We haven’t discussed it, no.”

“So, do I bring you the borrowed and blue and old and new? What should I wear? What are you wearing? What’s the deal?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

Her voice drops lower as she asks, “You want me to meet you in the bathroom with a plane ticket and a SWAT team so you can get outta Dodge?”

“Maybe…” I say immediately.

“Totally?” she asks.

“One sec,” I whisper.

I come out, wondering where he is.

He’s come back to the master suite but is now outside on the small balcony that looks out from the foot of the bed through sliding doors. The doors are shut, and he’s leaned on the railing, admiring the view, I guess. He looks casual, not like he can hear me.

I try to pull my thoughts together.

“What do you need, Chloe?” she asks, urgently. “Is there some way you can tell me so I can help you?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t have a clue. I was gonna ask someone in his family to help, but they were all… out there. Way out there. I did everything but stomp my feet and scream and they don’t give a fuck as long as Derek handles things so that I don’t go to the press. He’s got them believing he’ll win me over. They’re acting like him blackmailing me into being with him is the healthiest thing he’s done lately. It's so fucked up, Lan.”

“I’ll help you get out of this.”

I frown. “I don’t know if you can without getting caught in his crosshairs.”

“Leave it to me.”

“You sound awfully confident. You have a plan already?”

“Not entirely, but no way am I going to just sit back and do nothing here. Show up tomorrow and follow my lead.”

I hold the phone as my heartrate picks up.

“I’ve got you,” she whispers.

“I can’t let something bad happen to you.”

“You can’t let him away with this,” she counters.

“Ugh,” I grunt.

“Gonna go figure this out,” Alannah says.

“I don’t know, Lan…”

“Follow my lead tomorrow.”

“Love you lots,” I say. “Please be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m a big girl. I know my way around drama and trauma. Tiptoed through a few minefields in my day so far. Love you, babe. You’re okay though?”

“Weirded out beyond measure. Nervous about fallout no matter what I do, but I guess I’m okay. As okay as I can be.”

“Right. Zero chance you’re thinking of giving it a whirl and hoping for the best with him?” she asks.

“God no. What? That’s nuts.”

Dead air.

“Lan?”

“Tell me now if you’re thinking you should consider it.”

“Would you?” I quip.

She shocks me when she says, “I’ve been asking myself that very question, babe.”

“You delusional?”

“C’mon, Chlo. You do a pro and con list yet?”

“You don’t have all the facts. The threats, Lan. They’re concerning. They’re why I’m here.”

“What specifically has he threatened with?”

Flustered, I run my freehand through my hair. “It’s a general, you won’t like what happens thing. Like what he did when you were there for breakfast. So, I really don’t know.”

“Hm. Empty threats?”

“The threats to Adam were… a little more specific. He threatened to share secrets. Don’t ask what because it’s not something anyone can know. But he had a bodyguard hold us at gunpoint that night he convinced Adam to end our relationship.” I drop my voice even lower. “He’s dug far back into me, knows a lot. Knows a lot about Adam. Told me he even has files on my birth parents. So I wouldn’t say empty threats. I just don’t know how far he’d actually go.”

“Holy,” she whispers.

“Find out anything else about him, his history?” I ask.

“About him and his family? It’s all shady. Money. Power. Corruption. But nothing solid. Rumors. Lots of rumors of their ability to make problems go away in a variety of unsavory ways. Nobody wants to say anything specific.”

“I’ll message you tonight,” I say. “But please be careful. I don’t want you in his sights. Now that Adam and I are over, you’re the one he’s going to-”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl and I’m not afraid of skeletons falling out of my closet.”

“But Lan…”

“No. Really. Okay, chickie, so if you show up tomorrow at the city hall, I’ve got you unless you give me the high sign. If you don’t do those things, I’ll know to pull whatever triggers I can gather for the arsenal. Yeah?”

“Okay,” I reply, doubtfully.

“Any snags or more I need to know we’ll talk when you send me tonight’s proof of life. Toodles.”

She’s hung up.

I exhale. She’s determined she’ll figure out a plan. What sort of plan, I’m not sure. And right now, we’re on Derek’s phone so is this call not being recorded? Or will he have access to everything we’ve just discussed? Did he wire this place this morning and has my conversation just been recorded? I don’t know but wouldn’t put it past him.

I step out of the bathroom; he’s still outside.

He turns around, still leaned against the railing, taking me in from toes to eyes.

He’s thinking about fucking me.

He’s about to make a move.

I feel myself torn between retreating and… not. His expression is tied into my body’s mechanics or something because I’m affected.

I’d have to be made of stone to not be somewhat affected by all the grand gestures. By all the little things, too, which add up to a lot. But the bottom line is that he’s threatening and dangerous. He’s manipulative. Adding that to his clearly warped view of reality and I just can’t allow myself to slide into mania with him. It could go horribly wrong, couldn’t it?

Crazy though, the only thing he’d change in this house is the same thing I’d change. I’d hoped it wasn’t as bad in person as it was in the pictures, but it’s worse. The neon green has to go.

I mean… it would have to go if I was committed to living here. But I’m not. I can’t be.

Loving a house and being likeminded on not having the master bathroom and walk-in closet neon green isn’t enough of a reason to believe anything here is viable. What sane person buys a house for me after all he’s done?

Though, he has gotten what he wants so far by pushing, hasn’t he? The swoony psycho wanted to bed me. He did. He wanted to break me and Adam up. He did. He wanted me to move in with him. I have. He’s gotten sex every time he wants it from me. He’s even taken me to the point where I’m resigned for sex and then rips the rug out from under me and leaves me on the edge and almost disappointed. Okay, more than almost. He’s clearly accustomed to getting what he wants.

He wants me to marry him at City Hall a half hour from here at 11:30 tomorrow.

Will he get his way again?

What could he do to me and my loved ones if I dig my heels in and refuse? Actually call his bluff for the first time? What if I escape when his back is turned and hide?

My mind races as I consider possibilities and then I’m turning my back to him so I can go back into the bathroom. I shut the door and lock it. My eyes land on the phone in my hand, and my thumb slides across the screen to the next page of apps. My eyes do a sweep of the screen. Another swipe. A visual sweep. This last page has a folder that has my name on it. Inside are two icons. One is a car. The other is a house.

He’ll expect me out in a minute, but I can’t stop myself from bopping the house icon while I have a minute alone with his phone. My heart skips a beat when I realize I’m looking at a live feed of the kitchen. Of Adam and Craig.

Adam sits in his wheelchair at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Craig stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. Adam’s brother Paul steps into the kitchen and his lips are moving.

I touch the volume button on the screen and immediately hear them talking.

“…loves Gran. She’d wanna know.”

I straighten up.

“Already told you we’re finished, and I broke her heart. She doesn’t wanna hear from me after all this. ”

My chest flares with emotion.

Paul looks frustrated. “Maybe I’ll call her.”

“No.”

“She’d wanna pay her respects before it’s over, bro.”

My heart sinks. Adam’s grandmother is wonderful. Sweet. Of course I would want to pay my respects if she’s critically ill. I like Paul. I get along fine with Adam’s older sister Ruthie. I’ve only met his other sister Vera once; she lives in France. Adam’s dad is nice to me; it’s his mom who’s tepid with me, but everyone else has been great.

All this with me and us and now he will lose his gran? Adam looks utterly broken. A crushing weight feels like it’s sitting on my chest.

“Chloe?” Derek calls from the other side of the door.

I immediately back out of the app, then twist the lock and rip it open.

“What? I can’t even have privacy to use the bathroom?” I’m about to move past him but he blocks me by leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.

“You were snooping.”

I scoff, holding out his phone. “You’re accusing me of snooping? Talk about rich.”

“I heard a male voice. Who was it?” He takes the phone and eyeballs it.

“I was peeking in on my ex on your camera feed, as if you couldn’t guess. You have some fucking audacity, don’t you? I was peeking in on my ex in my house on your stalker app. Take those cameras out, Derek.”

“I’ll take them out eventually,” he says with a shrug. “And that boring little box is no longer your house. This is.” He gestures.

“My name is on that mortgage.”

“We’ll get it off. Your name is on this deed. No mortgage.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll show you.” He takes my hand and I can’t wrench it free, so I have no choice but to follow him downstairs to the kitchen. He opens the roll up bread bin on the counter and there’s a folder. He opens it and shows me.

“Derek and Chloe Steele?” I mutter. “I’m not Chloe Steele.”

“You will be,” he states, wrapping his arms around me. “Tomorrow. I got your bag if you need to check your phone.” He gestures to it on the island. “What do you want me to make you to eat? Brunch portions were measly,” he says. “I could eat, too.”

“You don’t need to make me food. I’ll find something myself.” I step out of his embrace, open the fridge and see the ingredients that were in his penthouse fridge. Figuring I’ll eat something and then look for an opportunity to find out what’s happening with Adam’s grandmother, I pull out some Cajun spiced shaved turkey breast, some pepperjack cheese slices, a cucumber, mayo, and some Dijon mustard. There’s a bag of buns in the bread box he pulled that file of paperwork from.

The butter got put in the fridge, so I pop it into the microwave for twelve seconds.

“You want one?” I ask.

He looks surprised and I realize I’ve offered out of reflex.

“I’d love one,” he says softly, putting a hip to the counter and watching me root around through cupboards and drawers for plates and a knife.

Despite everything, I don’t have it in me to take the offer back, so I wash my hands and get to work on the sandwiches without looking at him despite knowing he’s watching my every move while standing close enough I can smell his bodywash.

“I think we should put a pool in,” he states as I wash the cucumber. “What do you think?”

I give him a dark look and say nothing before I turn my attention to slicing the cucumber.

He moves behind me and takes my hair into a bunch at the nape of my neck, then presses his lips to my throat while he wraps his other hand around my waist. “Lots of space out there. Place behind is up for sale. Four acres of land and a decent house. We could get stables. Horses.” His thumb goes up and down over my belly, the rest of his fingers stay still.

I hold my breath while I butter the buns. I’m not sure if he found out about my love for horses. Maybe not. A lot of women have childhood dreams of owning their own horse.

“You look beautiful today,” he whispers against my skin, and I get a head-to-toe shiver that I’m unable to hide. “Covered in things I bought for you. I like that. You’ve taken care of yourself for a long time. I like taking care of you. Providing for you.” His hand grazes my under-boob area and I find myself holding my breath as his lips dot kisses along my throat before he lets go of my hair as he announces, “I’ll pour the champagne.”

“I don’t want champagne,” I snap with irritation. “There’s nothing to celebrate.”

He looks amused at what he must be categorizing as my over-reaction.

“I want champagne,” he says. “I want to toast a celebration of buying this house for you. Of you making me a sandwich for the first time. Of the many wonderful things to come, Chloe.”

He pulls the champagne out of the bucket, wraps the bottle in a waiting tea towel and twists the metal cage, pops it, and pours it into two waiting champagne flutes.

I slice the turkey sandwiches in half.

He holds his glass up and looks at the second glass that he poured as if I’m about to lift it.

“Cheers.”

“I’m not cheers’ing you,” I deny bitchily. “ And I only offered you a sandwich out of reflex.”

He sips his champagne as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and tuck it under my arm as I walk both plates the few paces to the other side of the island where there are two stools. I climb up on one.

He brings over the two glasses of champagne and sits beside me, setting one in front of me.

“Take a sip, Chloe. Just one. Please? Isn’t it rude not to?” He chucks me under the chin playfully, then taps my nose with his thumb.

I swat his hand away.

“One sip. Please?”

He holds out the glass.

Something in the bottom of the glass catches my eye and panic spikes. I refuse to wait for the details of what it is to emerge through the bubbly haze. My eyes bounce to his face instead.

He’s smiling. Waiting.

My gaze narrows.

No. I am not doing this right now. He is not going to propose to me. No.

I studiously avoid looking at it. But we both know I know what’s in it. There’s a motherfucking diamond ring in that glass.

“You’re so fucking cute when you’re angry at me for doing things for you,” he quips.

I lift half of my sandwich and take a bite.

Derek sets the glass down, not even trying to hide the smirk on his face. He knows I saw it, knows I’m pretending I didn’t. He lifts one half of his sandwich and takes a bite. I watch his face light up as he chews, then swallows, saying, “Mm. That’s delicious. Thank you, baby.” He leans over and kisses me on the lips, startling me.

I’m taking my second bite when he says, “Gonna sip your champagne?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, so we’re gonna play this game, are we? I have a few games up my sleeve, too. I think maybe after we finish our sandwiches it’ll be time to play one of them.”

Ignoring the belly dip the threat gives me, I bitchily chomp off a large bite of my sandwich.

I eat while pretending there’s no sexual energy in the room. Pretending not to notice how he watches me as he eats beside me. Doing my best, too, to not be affected by where I am. In this house. This house I thought I’d never, ever set foot in.

I’m ignoring that he’s beside me in that sexy suit, chin resting on his palm as he leans on an elbow, gazing at me like I’m his dream girl. I’ve probably got mustard and mayo on my chin.

Many daydreams plagued me during the period where I visited the listing for this house forty-six times (according to him). Fantasies of my kids playing in that yard. Dreams of having a pool put in with a fence to keep those kids safe. Now my mind drifts to thoughts of fairy lights at night outlining the yard, and me and my man fucking under the stars on a deck chair. The fairy lights blend into the next image of a two-storey Christmas tree beside the fireplace that’s directly behind me right now.

I had to stop indulging in those daydreams. Because Adam thought the house was too expensive. Too old. Too far. He had a million reasons for not buying it. He also thought it was way too much money for a starter home. I didn’t want a starter home. I wanted to move into a home after our honeymoon and stay there forever.

The dream of this place fizzled to nothing when the accident happened. A few months later, Adam’s mother told us about the accessible townhome she found in a price range we could afford now and with all the bells and whistles Adam would need as part of his rehabilitation road. And of course I put my unrealistic dreams of this house aside. It’s not like we had enough money, but it sat on the market for months and up until my life had become all about Adam’s diagnosis, I had hoped the price would drop. That something would work out. But then of course I didn’t think about it anymore. Except the day we moved into the townhome and it was so, so different from what I thought would be the place I’d put down roots.

When I get to the end of my sandwich, I lift my napkin and dab my mouth before crumpling it and dropping it on the polka dotted lunch plate. Derek’s plate is the same, but different colors. I own a dress that’s almost a perfect match of the pattern of his plate.

The previous owner of this place even left these fabulous dishes. I loved seeing the dining room styled with these plates in the real estate listing. It took me a hot minute to find the pattern. I bookmarked a set of them online but hadn’t invested in them yet.

He drinks back some of the champagne from the glass he put in front of me, grabs my face and kisses me, making sure I get some. I pull back, hop off the stool, and am about to storm off, when I’m hauled up in the air over Derek’s shoulder.

“Argh!” I protest.

He slaps my ass.

“Hey!” I shout.

“We’re going to bed. We’re christening this joint.”

“You want to wear my lunch down your back? If not, put me down.”

He lifts the champagne glass, dumps the contents into the sink and I hear the clink of the ring hitting the porcelain. He sticks his hand in the sink, so he must grab it, I’m not getting the best vantage point over his shoulder. The next thing I know, he’s climbing the stairs.

“If I throw up on your back it’ll serve you right,” I grumble.

“Serves who right for those ten or twenty images on a certain blog that I downloaded a full backup of via the Wayback Machine? All those images of bare-chested guys with half-naked women draped over their shoulders?”

My mouth opens in outrage at the accusation, but I clamp it shut and fire back, “So, it’s my fault you’re like this?”

“Absolutely. Your blog gave me all sorts of ideas.”

We’re climbing stairs now and I hold on tighter. “Clearly there’s an expectation versus reality lesson here and believe me, Derek, I’ve learned. Put me down.”

He laughs heartily as he drops me on the bed. Immediately, he reaches out and snatches my ankle and pulls me down the bed a little before he undoes my shoe buckle to get it unstrapped. He drops the shoe without dropping his gaze, which is pointed at my face. He repeats the motion with the other foot and as soon as my foot is free from the binds of the straps, he leans down and puts his lips to the top of my foot while flinging that shoe over his shoulder. It lands on the dresser with a thunk.

And I’m lying here not stopping him. Not blinking. Maybe not even breathing as I watch him toe his shoes off, shuck his blazer and undo his cufflinks, setting them on the bedside table. I see they’re black with monogramed silver letters on them.

The tie gets loosened and then it and the shirt are gone. My eyes drink in the expanse of muscled chest and abs, defined shoulders and biceps and I’m momentarily hypnotized by the sight of my crazy stalker.

He drops the suit pants and toes off his dress socks and then he’s got a knee to the bottom of the bed and he’s moving until he’s hovering over me in just his tight black boxer briefs.

“You want what was in the glass?” he asks.

I shake my head and internally cuss myself out for the intrusive thought about wanting what’s in his underpants.

“Wanna see it at least?”

I shake it again.

“Hm,” he muses. “Guess we’ll figure that out before tomorrow. For now… we can occupy ourselves.”

I’m staring and thinking all sorts of thoughts about my Derek problem. Bitchy doesn’t work. Fighting mad doesn’t help; he’s too strong. What if I just lie here? What if I don’t react to the stunts he pulls? What if I freeze him out by being as unemotional and unexpressive as I can be? Would that do it? Would that make him give up this ridiculous game he’s playing?

His eyes close and I’m fascinated by his eyelashes for a brief moment. So fixed on them I miss the descent and now his lips press to mine.

I remain still.

He backs up an inch before he moves back in, lips touching mine with the addition of him touching the tip of his tongue to my cupid’s bow as he leans down and rests on his left elbow, right hand moving in, now cupping my jaw.

“This is where we’re gonna raise a family, Chloe. This house, that yard out there.” He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and rubs the tip of his nose against mine. “Have kids climbing in here with us on Saturday mornings to cuddle or jump on the bed, wanting me to get up and make pancakes and play outside with them while you get to lie in bed reading a book until you can’t stand missing out on the laughter and join us in that treehouse.”

I do my best to remain perfectly still, but despite my efforts, my nostrils flare and I really need to fucking swallow.

His hand leaves my jaw, caresses my boob, and then glides down until it’s to my knee where he grips behind it and lifts, so it’s cocked.

“Gonna push me away? Tell me not to?” He cups my ass.

I say nothing. I stare at him, trying to be stoic, unemotional, which is difficult. Not only because of the physicality here, but also because of the nerves he’s just struck with his talk of kids and pancakes and lazy Saturday mornings.

His fingertips slip inside my underwear and move until they slide straight through the heart of me.

Damn biology, he’s found me wet. Again.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Derek asks, “Not gonna fight?”

I shrug, doing my best to give him an ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude.

“But I want you to fight me, baby. Because you come so much harder when I overpower you. Don’t you?” He chuckles devilishly.

Smug bastard.

I keep my expression frozen somehow.

But then his hand snakes up and the zipper of my dress is pulled down. He pulls the dress up over my head and tosses it before he fiddles down below and abruptly yanks the fabric of my underwear to the side and slams forward, filling me past the brink, making me react involuntarily both audibly with a grunt and physically as my lower back leaves the mattress and I grab him by the hair.

One of his hands grips the length of my hair, too, and he devours my mouth in an aggressive kiss. He pulls his hips back before slamming forward again. Harder. And I grip his hair tighter as I arch into it, cross heels clamped just beneath his backside.

He pulls out, grabs my ankles and gets my legs up so my ankles are at his shoulders. He tears my underwear up and off before he plunges back inside, caressing my legs, slipping his right hand across my hip to get his thumb to my clit.

One leg is pushed wider to accommodate Derek’s hot mouth, which closes around my nipple over top of my lace bra, sending vibrations throttling their way through me. I’m feeling it from multiple sensation points as he keeps moving, keeps circling, continues suckling.

While lost in sensation, my focus hones in on the detail of the ceiling of the bedroom in a house I spent a lot of time dreaming about, obsessing over. I gave up on this dream. I gave up pieces of myself for Adam.

I’m not materialistic, but Derek buying this for me for the reasons he detailed has my brain playing hopscotch. Because I’m dropping a rock on the sections of my brain that I don’t want to land on right now because those sections are pro-Derek. And I’m telling myself those parts of my mind have got to be slipping into insanity because everything he’s done, and all his convoluted logic is too dangerous to get caught up in.

Because I shouldn’t be okay with any of his deceit and manipulations, and I absolutely should not be forgiving with the threats of harming people I care about. And giving him any more than this – any more than what I have no choice but to give him – is me letting the ends justify the means. And the means are so very wrong.

“You’re such a wet, quivering bundle of sexuality, you know that?” he says into my ear. “You feel so fucking good. The feel of this sweet, tight pussy, the sounds you make drive me wild. The taste of your tongue? I could spend all my time fucking you, baby. Fuck you any way you want me to as much as you want me to. You hear that? You don’t have to go without. Only I can make you feel like this, beautiful Chloe. I know what you want. I know how to fuck you properly. And you love every fucking minute of it. Don’t you?”

“Shut up,” I spit as I claw his back with both hands.

His mouth is on mine again and anger overtakes logic for me as I sink into sensation.

I let him take me into the eye of the tornado with him. Giving him my tongue. Clenching my inner muscles around him.

He groans. I clench harder. He rotates his hips. I tighten my legs, dig my nails in. His pace picks up even faster, even harder, and he’s panting. Panting hard, licking my throat, biting my earlobe, pinching my nipple, swallowing my cries. Doing all of this while pumping, pistoning, driving forward in delicious, powerful strokes.

“Fuck, you’re my good girl, you know that?” he asks huskily.

I’m angry. Angry that he’s crazy. Angry that he’s done so many things that I shouldn’t forgive him for. Maybe also a little mad that he’s this fucked up because it means I can’t have any of the things he’s promising me. And maybe some of them sound really, really good.

I come, in a big way, pink, white, orange, and green spots dancing behind my eyes in a swirled colorful haze as a series of loud whimpers escapes my mouth. Before I come all the way down, he turns to his back, bringing me with him, moving my hips back and forth so I can ride him.

My hair is plastered to my face, so I whip it back and our eyes meet. His hair is a mess, too; his dark eyes are full to the brim with sexual kryptonite as he bites his lower lip while moving me to and fro.

Boneless, I grab onto his shoulders and sort of melt as my orgasm starts to ebb. As I’m melting forward, into him, he pulls out and flips me to my belly, pressing me into the mattress as he slides back inside and slips his hand under my hip to again work my clit.

I chew the pillow, crying out while I wait for the rest of the orgasm to fade. But instead… it ramps up again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck baby,” he grunts, kissing the back of my shoulder.

Finally, he groans long and melts into my back.

“Fuck, yeah. That was insanely good, wasn’t it?” He kisses my neck again.

Insane? Yep.

He dozes off. But I don’t. He’s holding me close, both of us on our sides facing one another. His steady breaths are a breeze on my forehead as I ponder things.

Finally, I slip out from under his arm and roll out of the bed before reaching to the floor to see if I can find my dress. I spy the fluffy pink housecoat on the back of the door, so I go get it on instead and go to the bathroom.

When I’m back, he’s still sound asleep, so I squat and reach into his suit pants and find his phone. It goes into my robe pocket as I tiptoe out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen where my purse sits on the island. I take it with me and go to the covered porch that’s accessible from the back hall where the laundry and powder rooms are. Closing the door behind myself, I call Adam.

He answers before it rings for a second time.

“Hello?”

“Adam?”

“Chloe?” He sounds shocked.

He thought Derek was phoning.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He holds the phone for a second before he says, “Are you okay?” His voice sounds choked.

“That’s why I’m calling you. I probably don’t have long to talk, but I got ahold of his phone and found the app attached to the cameras there and heard you and your brother talking for a half a minute, but you guys said something about your grandmother. Is she… is she sick? What’s wrong?”

He lets out a big breath and then speaks quickly. “I… my uncle was found dead in prison. She got that news in the car and had a heart attack and dropped on my parents’ lawn on the way in after church. They…uh… revived her, but … it was too long before they did and now she’s… the news isn’t good. She’s not gonna wake up. They’re giving us time to get everyone here and then they’ll turn off the life support.”

My heart clenches. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I think he did it, Chloe. I think he took care of my uncle.”

I wince.

“I didn’t answer his offer when he said he could take care of that for me. I didn’t… I didn’t tell him to do it. I haven’t talked to him at all since he … since he took you from me Friday night.”

“If he did do something to your uncle…” I swallow, “It wasn’t your doing.”

“You don’t know if it was him?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” he counters.

“No,” I whisper. “I mean I am but I’m not. You know?”

“Yeah. Same,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I took you for granted. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

My chin trembles. “That should’ve been between you and me. And I’m sorry I said things someone else had a chance to overhear. There’s no point in going over it, though.”

“Guess not,” he mutters.

“Which hospital is your gran at? I’d like to go see her. I don’t know if I can get there. If I don’t, please know I’m thinking of you. But I’m going to see what I can do.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Chloe. I’ve told my family we’re over. They’re dealing with all this with Gran. You don’t want him to have a reaction either, so…” He lets that hang.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“It’s probably best that you don’t come. They’re giving time for Vera to get in and it’ll probably happen tomorrow night. I appreciate the thought though.” He sniffles.

He sounds far away. A million miles away from being the Adam I thought I was spending the rest of my life with.

And I’m not sure how I’m feeling about it at the moment.

“Okay. I’ll let you go,” I say.

“I got a message that on Tuesday, some people are coming to clear out your things. I’m… I’m guessing on some of the things we bought together about whether you’ll want them or not. If something doesn’t get to you that you do want, please just… tell him to get word to me.”

I numbly nod, then belatedly say, “Okay.”

“Take care of yourself, Chloe.”

“You, too.” I press end then pull my lips tight and fill my lungs with air before I slowly let it out.

I slip into the other app in the folder with my name on it and see it’s tracking my location on a screen that uses the street maps app.

I turn my phone off. I refresh the app. It still shows my location. I do it a couple more times in case there’s a delay. This means I have to pull my SIM card if I run from Derek.

Noise has me looking over my shoulder and Derek is in the doorway, wearing just a pair of dark sweatpants. His eyes are sleepy, sexy, but shifting to suspicious as I’m caught red handed holding both my phone and his.

He comes over and holds his hand out. I hand it over.

“What were you doing?” he asks, eyes a little cold.

“Adam’s grandmother is dying. She had a heart attack after finding out her son died in prison.”

His expression does not change. I don’t know if he’s responsible or not, so I ask.

“Are you responsible for that?”

“What if I am?”

I shoot to my feet and lean forward aggressively.

“If you are, then you,” I stab my index finger toward him, “are responsible for Adam’s grandmother having a heart attack and being brain dead and about to have life support pulled.”

“If I pulled strings to end the life of a predator of children who would never have gotten out of prison to see the light of day, would that make me responsible for the predator’s mother’s reaction?”

“It might not make you responsible, but if you don’t feel even a little bit bad about it, you’re an asshole,” I snap.

“Where ending the life of a waste of space pedophile is concerned, I’d be happy to be the asshole. Saves the taxes we spend to keep him clothed and fed. Where you’re concerned? I’m an asshole for very specific reasons and expected outcomes.”

“If a woman is dying because you interfered where you shouldn’t have, you’re worse than an asshole,” I fire back. “A cold-hearted sociopath, maybe.”

He swipes his phone and looks at something, answering, “Probably. But maybe certain people need to know how serious I am. Certain people who aren’t supposed to fuckin’ speak to you.”

He can obviously see I just phoned Adam on his phone.

“I called him,” I snap. “He didn’t call me.”

Pressing his finger to the screen, he wanders off.

A moment later, still curled in a ball on the couch, I hear his voice, which grows louder as he comes back and stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Me having to stop on a Sunday afternoon and call you to tell you this is inconvenient. Inconveniences irritate me. Remember that.” He’s back in front of me now, ending the call. His eyes slide up from his screen to my face. "That was your ex. He’s been informed that if you contact him again and he doesn’t immediately hang up, he'll be strung from some rafters by his ankles while watching me make you come until you pass out. You don’t even wanna know what happens if he contacts you. Though you seemed to be growing weary of my vague threats. Would you like some explicit detail of this threat?”

“No,” I whisper.

“I ran you a bath if you’re interested. I’m gonna go use the den on the main floor to get a few things done for the clubs. Thinking you’d want the upstairs library as your office with all those bookshelves. Yeah?”

I don’t answer.

“I’ll make dinner around seven,” he says expectantly.

“If I’m hungry, I’ll get something for myself,” I reply.

His eyes sweep over me and then he shrugs. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

I curl up on the comfy couch, put my head on the arm, and stare out the window at trees that I know will, after this winter is over, be covered in blossoms. Beautiful pink and white ones.

And I wonder where I’ll be then. Here? Or will I have gotten away from my stalker? I wonder how I’ll feel about the outcome of however this goes. When those tree blossoms bloom, will I be with Derek, fighting for my freedom? Will I be alone and free of him? And will I be better or worse off than I am at this very minute?

If I’ve gotten away from him, will I think about all this, all he wants to give me, all the sensations he created in me? If this is temporary, which it must be somehow some way, if I’ve got the ability to look back on it, will be wistful? Will I wish I’d enjoyed it more? If I’m somewhere else, will I wish I was here with the ability to see those blossoms up close? Will this end in bloodshed? Whose? Besides Adam’s grandma and uncle.

After a while, I take my purse and phone and woodenly walk back upstairs. I let the fragrant, still warm water out of my dream bathtub and instead take a long, hot shower before I put a tracksuit on and decide to check in with my parents.

Last time I called, I called Dad’s cell so this time I call my mom.

“Hello?” my mother answers.

“Hi, how are you?”

“Oh, Chloe, we’re fine, how are you? We’re just on our way to the Keoughs’ for dinner. Can we catch up later on or is there a reason you’re calling?”

“Oh. Just checking in but okay, sure, we can talk later. Have a good afternoon. Say hi to dad.”

“Nothing’s wrong?” she checks.

“Nope,” I reply, but my voice cracks.

But she misses it because she says, “Okay. Talk soon. Bye.”

I don’t think I’ve ever had a shoot-the-breeze long phone call with her. Ever. There needs to be a reason to call. Dad won’t always rush me off the phone, but he’s often busy. When I visit them, it seems like they’re always in the middle of some big project to do with the house, often distracted.

When the three of us come together, we’ll have meals together, but all the conversations are on the surface. Nothing with any depth. I wouldn’t say it seems forced, just not all that warm. When I visit them, my old room is now a guest room and I generally don’t stay over because a long, hangout style visit just generally isn’t what they’re about.

When Adam was in the hospital, they did visit. Once. Took me to dinner. Brought flowers and two self-care baskets, one for me and one for Adam. I get a text on my birthday, not a call. Holidays aren’t a given with them. Sometimes I’ll see them, sometimes I don’t. They’re busy, enjoying their empty nest lifestyle. I’m not bothered by them about when I’ll give them grandchildren. They congratulated me and Adam on the engagement and my father told me they had $40K aside for my wedding. Dad asked me if I was sure, if I was happy, and that was that.

After losing Bryan. I think they walked around numb for months, semi-numb for years. Every one of us withdrew into ourselves. Losing him broke the family unit.

Adam’s family is a lot closer to one another but never really made me feel like a member of the family.

Alannah’s family loves me. That’s where I get the lovey dovey squishy family feels fix from. I often go there for holidays. It’s a loud, expressive, butt-into-your-business group. They often fight. They also laugh together a lot. It’s kind of ideal.

My mind drifts to Derek’s dysfunctional family as I curl up on the bed that Derek already made. I push those thoughts away while I catch up on my unread text messages. Just a few from Alannah and one from Coraline, who messaged me last night.

Alannah told us you and Adam split. She said you’re not ready to talk about it. So sorry girl. I’m here if you need me day or night. Hugs.

I decide to scroll my socials and see a selfie of Coraline, Maddie, and Jeffy at brunch today, posted by Jeffy.

They’d normally invite me if they were going out as a group. Maybe Alannah told them not to. Alannah didn’t go either, but she’s probably busy planning how to help me out of this mess.

Panic suddenly envelopes me at the notion of what might happen. At the notion of the unknown. At the idea she could get punished by intervening.

I just don’t know what to do about any of it, but Alannah has resources to get information and I’m thinking I’ll get the downlow on what her plan is in the bathroom at City Hall before anything. Then I can hear her out and decide if there’s too much risk.

I open the browser on my phone and type inmate+pedophile+dead. And immediately I see the results.

Alan Howard Bell was found dead in a maximum security prison in Michigan. The article was only two paragraphs, published in the local paper of the town where the crimes were committed, and it said that the cause of death was not yet known. He was twenty-three years into a life sentence. He not only committed sexual offences against multiple minors, but also got convicted of murdering a nine-year-old girl.

I resisted the urge to dig into the case against him, instead feeling sad for Adam’s grandmother, who, regardless of the sins her son committed had to feel all kinds of pain at the idea of his death. It had to bring all the stress and devastation back to her.