Chapter thirty
Russell’s Penthouse, The Level
Russell
When I return to my apartment, the smell of freshly cooked food hits me hard as I enter. I step into my home and make my way directly to the kitchen, but instead of finding Mrs. D as I expect, it’s Samantha behind the stovetop.
“You hungry?” she asks with a smile. “A free man’s food will always taste better than an incarcerated one.”
“Slight dramatization, Trouble. My leg was in a cast. I wasn’t locked up.”
I limp over to her, my foot still swollen and the relief of freedom still throbbing.
“I can’t believe it took so long to get this damn thing off.”
My arms slide around her middle as I stand behind her, bend, and lean my chin on her shoulder.
“Well, if you won't heal as the doctors tell you to, then you need the medical intervention for longer.” She giggles softly as I blow on her neck before placing my lips on her skin.
“Are you saying I was badly behaved?”
“Always, but I like it,” she whispers, keeping her eyes fixed on what I assume is chili in the pot she is stirring. “Being a good boy wouldn’t suit you.”
“You like bad boys, Trouble?”
“I’m with you, aren’t I?”
“And what about my brother? Is he good or bad?” She freezes in my arms, her anxiousness about discussing the situation clear. “It’s okay; there are no secrets. It’s alright to mention you and him in front of me. I’m well aware of the situation.”
“Connor isn’t too keen to talk about you.”
Once again, she falls silent, and I sense her mood dipping from jovial to melancholy.
It would be easy to think, as Hunter does, that Samantha has all the perks of her current romantic setup, but I know she’s really struggling with the conflict.
Both the ongoing one between my brother and myself, and also one within her.
“That’s not surprising. He’s always been the more sensitive of the two of us. Even though he started all this with his suggestion, I believe he struggles most.”
She turns in my arms, blinking up at me with wide eyes.
“I’ve thought a lot about walking away, leaving you both to be happy. Perhaps that would be best before we take things any further.”
“Where did you come from?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“Who?”
“This man here.” Five fine fingers with bright red nails drop to my chest and spread over my heart. “The sane and considerate one. The man who thinks of putting others before himself. Where is the unhinged, possessive lunatic I met?”
“He’s still here, but he’s fallen for a girl whose happiness is the most important thing in his world. He’s learned to control his darkness so others aren’t hurt by his actions.”
“Could you really let me go? After waiting all this time, could you allow me to walk away and create a life only with Connor?” she asks. We hold each other's gaze, lost in the words of the question asked. Before I can answer, she does.
“Because I can’t. Even if it’s only once, I need this to happen. I need you to make love to me.” She rises up on tiptoe, kissing me softly. When she pulls back, tears run down her cheeks. “Why does this feel like the beginning of the end?”
“Because it is,” I say, my heart breaking. “We’re all moving closer to a conclusion with each day that passes, even though we don’t know the outcome.”
I should tell her about the agreement Connor and I made before taking her to bed, but I want no more distractions or difficult conversations.
Despite knowing I should walk away and allow the two people I love most to be happy, I’ll be selfish one last time.
She will be partly mine for a short while, but I accept he’ll always be her first choice. She was his first, after all.
What started as a competition became a lifeline to my soul.
Samantha has shown me I can love and be loved in return.
But she was never mine to keep, and I know that now.
My mother told me as a small boy to enjoy each moment as we are never guaranteed tomorrow.
That advice means more today than it ever will.
My moments with Samantha will be cherished long after my fingertips leave her skin.
“Come with me,” I say. “Switch this all off, and come spend time with me.”
She turns to remove the pot from the stovetop then twists the dial to zero. I take her fingers before leading her onto the outdoor terrace beyond the glass sliding doors. We weave slowly through the pots laid out across the space, me walking stiffly a fraction in front and her following behind.
As we round the corner, my infinity pool comes into view. It’s pristine, crystal clear water glinting under the warm summer sun.
We come to a stop at the edge of the pool, and I turn to face her. She smiles softly up at me, her cheeks highlighted with a soft pink glow. “Do you know how often I’ve thought about bringing you out here, Trouble?” I say.
“I would assume a lot.”
“Every fucking day since I met you I’ve pictured you up here, strutting around in a tiny bikini while I lay back and watch.”
“I don’t have a bikini here.” The words are simple but filled with sexual innuendo. “I’ll need to go home and get one.”
“If you think I’m letting you leave this penthouse now…” I step forward so our bodies connect. Her soft breasts give way to my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, spreading my fingers across her ass. “You’re going nowhere, Trouble, until I’m done with you.”
“Done doing what?” she replies cheekily.
“Filling you full of me, so I drip from that sweet pussy of yours.” My dirty words don’t appear to affect her. She rolls her eyes then shrugs, the upward movement of her shoulders jiggling her breasts a little.
“You’ve never seen my pussy.” She bites her lip, knowing she’s pushing my buttons. “How do you know she’s sweet?”
“Because every part of you I’ve tasted so far is honey, and I have no doubt you will be the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.”
In the corner of my terrace is a large daybed draped with white satin.
I take her hand once more and lead her across the remaining distance.
We stop at the end of the bed, and when I turn back to her again, she eyes me warily.
Uncertainty stabs in my chest for a second.
This feels like the last time we can walk away and not change our relationship irrevocably.
Although the past months have been filled with sweet kisses and talk of what we want to happen, now we’re here, I need to be sure she wants this too.
I can’t ignore the reality that after she leaves me, if her relationship with my brother progresses to marriage and forever, the fact will remain that I fell in love with my sister-in-law.
I slept with her and tried to build a future together that was never mine to have.
My conscience rears its unfamiliar head again.
I’ve second-guessed myself more since meeting Samantha than I have during my whole life.
She brings out a part of me I both love and hate, a man who yearns for love with a woman who loves him too.
The joy of normal family life. A man who constantly questions what’s right and who puts others before himself.
It’s not what I ever saw myself being or becoming.
The asshole is making way for the gentleman, but the man coming forward knows he’s going to get hurt.
That fact isn’t enough to stop him craving the love he shouldn’t have.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Trouble?” I ask. She drops her eyes to the floor, and I place a finger under her chin to lift them back to meet mine. “Because say no now, and I’ll stand down. I’ll take you back to Connor, kiss you goodbye, and we can forget this happened.”
“I could never forget,” she mumbles.
“We can try. My brother deserves happiness, and so do you; this is a complication none of us need.” I drop my hand away and step back. My sanity, for once, surfaces. Her hands snap forward, grabbing my arms, and her fingers lock tight to my skin.
“No,” she hisses. “You promised. You promised that once you had the cast removed, we would take things further. Why put the time into getting to know me? Why look out for me if you planned to walk away. Was it all the fun of the chase? And now that you have me here, in your home,
willing to sleep with you, have I lost your interest?”
“You could never lose my interest, Trouble,” I reply simply. “I’ve thought about this day more times than I wish to admit.”
“Well, fucking stop thinking about it and start living it.”
“But…”
“No more buts, what ifs, or excuses. I’m standing here in front of you saying yes. Take my word as the truth and enjoy me. We need this, both of us.”
“It’s all so fucked up,” I mutter, glancing over the city rooftops.
“Someone was always going to get hurt,” she challenges.
“From the moment I decided to allow my infatuation to take me to Guilty Pleasures, yes, I made sure someone was going to get hurt.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she whispers angrily.
“Maybe not, but it’s the truth.” I close my eyes, turning my face upward and allowing the soft summer rays to warm my skin.
My head tells me that no matter her argument, I need to take her hand and lead her to my brother’s apartment.
I must remove her from my life before I take this final step.
But my soul knows that no matter how reformed I feel, this is one experience I’m not willing to give up.
When I reopen my eyes, I find her standing, still holding my arms, but with tears on her cheeks. She sniffles softly.
“Don’t give up on me,” she says sadly.
“Letting you go isn’t giving up on you. It’s giving you freedom. It’s protecting my heart and yours. It is protecting you from making a choice.”
She doesn’t respond, but her fingers loosen a fraction.
I will her to hold on, to show me that she doesn’t agree.
For once, I’m looking to be led. “The last thing I want to be is more pain in your life.”
“That result is inevitable.” Unable to stomach her hurt or my own, I do what I knew I always would. I pull my arms from her grip, then take her face in my palms. “Don’t do this,” she mumbles against my lips.
“I don’t think I could walk away now if my life depended on it,” I growl, then take her mouth with mine.
We kiss, but it’s not sweet, slow, or sensual like most of our precious moments.
Our lips collide, our tongues roaming together, wanting more with each taste.