Chapter 9 Monk #3
“What the fuck, Vee?” I struggle to push down my own anger so this doesn’t escalate even more. “What have I ever done or said to make you think I put my art over yours? My career or future over yours?”
Something shifts in her eyes. She blinks and sighs, her shoulders sagging like exhaustion hits—from the week or from our argument, I’m not sure—and all the fight drains out of her.
“You haven’t,” she says, blinking at tears. “You don’t do that. I’m sorry. I just…”
Her words peter out and her eyes drop to the papers splayed around us.
“I’m sorry I mentioned delaying Juilliard.” I swallow my hurt and disappointment. “I want to be with you. I don’t want to leave, and it’s not about Petra or… whatever. It’s that you’re the most important thing to me now.”
“Not more than your music, Monk,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve known each other such a short time.”
How do I explain that it isn’t about how long we’ve known each other, but that with her I feel truly known.
I hadn’t considered the possibility that I’ve waded into the deep end by myself, that maybe she doesn’t feel the same.
I don’t address the issue of her being more important than my music already.
I don’t want to lie to her, and I’m not sure what the full truth is.
I only know that if I’m in New York and she’s still at Finley, I’ll be miserable.
“You’re right.” I wrap one hand around her nape. “If you want to slow things down, we can.”
“I don’t want to slow down. I just want to be… careful.” She slides her eyes away from mine. “I told you how intense things were between my parents.”
“And that it didn’t end well.”
She looks back to me. “No, not at all, but I don’t want to—”
“I’m not him and you’re not her.”
“I don’t want us to act like them, to be so caught up in each other that we make bad decisions or ignore important things.”
“Ignore things? What things?”
Her eyes slide away again. “I never doubted they loved each other. If anything, maybe they loved too much, but I’ve come to believe they weren’t good for each other. I don’t want that for us.”
“Hey, look at me.” Once I have her gaze again, I press a little closer, breathing in her unique scent, a freshness she carries even in the middle of the night. “I want to be good for you. I never want to hurt you.”
“I’m sure he never wanted to hurt her, either.” Her words are cryptic, but the invisible shield raised around her lets me know I won’t get much more tonight.
“I hate fighting with you,” she says, pressing a kiss to my lips, opening for me. I groan at the intimate tangling of tongues, at the taste of her. She takes my hand and threads our fingers together. “I’m sorry.”
“Was this our first fight?” I grin into the kiss and drop my hand to palm her ass in my lap.
She laughs and cups my head. “If it was, I want it to be our last one for a long time.”
“Please come back to bed.” I gently trace the slope of her cheekbone. “This project will get done. You need to rest.”
Her gaze drifts to the papers scattered across the floor. “You go on back to bed and I’ll finish up here.”
“Not without you.” I stand with my arms beneath her butt, wrapping her legs around my waist and heading for the bedroom.
“Monk,” she giggles, an arm draped over each of my shoulders. “This isn’t necessary.”
“We’re both exhausted.” I drop her on the bed, smiling when she bounces a little. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
“Or we could…” She stands on her knees in the middle of the bed and pulls my T-shirt over her head. “Go for round two.”
She’s naked beneath and only wears my marks from the first time we made love tonight, bites and faint bruises circling her breasts; smudges from my fingers at her hips where I gripped so hard when I took her from the back. I lie down and pull her on top of me.
“If I fuck you again,” I say, sending my hand up her bare thigh and the dip of her waist, “will you go to sleep?”
“Scout’s honor.” She spreads her fingers.
“Baby, that’s the Vulcan salute.”
“Whatever. I’ll sleep. Promise.”
She spreads her thighs over my lap and takes hold of me, stroking my hardening dick to full mast.
“We should…” I gasp at the arousal rising and erasing all reason.
She positions me and sinks down, never taking her eyes from my face.
I clench my eyes closed and grip one hand at her ass and one at her waist, guiding her into the rhythm I want.
She hooks her elbow at my neck and rides me like I’m a prize bull.
The flex of muscles in her stomach, in her legs, as she fucks me, the bounce of her breasts—I’m always mesmerized watching our bodies move together. I can’t look away. She’s glorious.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper at her jaw. “I can’t even focus half the time when you’re in the room.”
“I know.” She laughs and bites the tendon in my neck. “You watched me that way the night we met.”
Petra said the same thing, and I can’t even feel embarrassed. Maybe if I hadn’t been so obvious about my response to her, we wouldn’t be here now. She wouldn’t be mine.
She speeds up, rocking over me, the bang of the headboard a hypnotic rhythm.
My eyes roll back and I sink my shoulders into the pillow, let her take the reins.
She’s been more aggressive in bed lately, and I have no complaints.
We’re sweat-slicked and hoarse by the time we plaster the walls with screams of pleasure.
We both got tested and haven’t been using condoms, so as soon as we’re done, I carry her to the bathroom. I’m cleaning up and she heads for the toilet.
“Don’t watch me pee,” she grumbles with a little humor. “It’ll ruin the romance.”
I could tell her there’s nothing that could ruin this, but I close my eyes obediently while washing my hands.
“I still hear you,” I say.
“Asshole,” she laughs, flushing the toilet.
I open my eyes to meet hers in the mirror as she washes her hands.
All of this feels domestic. The girls I’ve hooked up with never stayed over.
I didn’t want them to spend the night in case they got the wrong idea; that I wanted more.
With Verity, I already want everything, and I’m not sure when she’ll be ready to hear that.
I take her hand and tug her back to the bedroom. Once in bed, she snuggles into my side.
“Now sleep,” I say, pulling the covers over us, unable to stifle a yawn.
She slots her leg between mine, wraps her arm around my waist, and kisses my chest. Exhaustion hits me, but I can’t fall back asleep right away. I measure the minutes by each breath she draws snuggled into me. She’s so slack now, her body finally surrendering to the need for sleep.
“You know I love you, right?” she mumbles, eyes closed and obviously at least half asleep.
I go completely still at the words. Will she even remember saying it tomorrow?
I press my lips to the soft curls at her temple. “I love you, too, baby.”
There’s no response but a soft snore and even breathing.
I huddle under the duvet and anchor her to me, somehow afraid this can’t be real and won’t last, that I’ll wake up and it will have been a dream. That I would have imagined this sliver of time where I loved a girl who loved me back and everything was perfect.
I’m not sure how long I sleep, but I wake to the slender fingers of dawn poking through the slitted blinds of my bedroom window. The space beside me is empty and cold again, and in the next room, I already hear the rustle of papers.