Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Alex
november
Pushing her back into the shower wall, I hoist her legs around me, then bring her down on my cock. She tips her head back and moans, digging her fingernails into my neck.
“Is that what you want, baby?” She nods, then lifts her hips to grind her clit against me. “God, you feel so fucking good.” She does. Tight and wet, a good fit. Perfect even.
“Alex…harder,” she tells me, sending blood racing down to my balls, that are already drawing up high and tight. My girl likes it rough. She claws at my back, her hands in my hair.
Our mouths meet, and our tongues tangle like we’re each trying to suffocate the other. She wants to consume as much as me. I push her harder into the wall and start sucking on her neck, leaving a mark like we’re in fucking high school.
It isn’t the indelible mark I really want to leave, but it satiates the feeling for the moment.
“Alex.” She tenses, and I push harder.
“I’m not stopping till you come apart on my cock.”
“But-”
I stop her, “Come, baby,” my voice thick with desire and need.
And then she’s arching her back against the wall.
And when I look down to watch her breasts bounce, my dick plunges deep inside her, and I grunt — slamming my seed into her body.
Well, into the condom in her body. It’s not even over, and I’m already wishing for more.
She’s still tense even as the pulses fade. When I lean back and say, “Happy Birthday, baby,” her expression throws me. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, but she doesn’t look like she’s coming off the high of an orgasm.
“Alex…” she taps my shoulder and points. I turn my head to find Blanks walking out of the bathroom. What the fuck?
“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Em.” She shakes her head.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.” I slide out of her as I set her down on the tile floor. “Shouldn’t have happened. I don’t even know what the fuck he’s doing here.” She trembles as I move away from her. Fuck.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Alex.”
“I’ll be back, okay?” She nods, moving under the hot spray to wash her hair. I toss the condom, grab a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, and head downstairs.
He’s standing in the kitchen, making coffee.
“What the fuck, Caleb! You can’t just walk in like that anymore!” I shout at him for making Emma feel uncomfortable in her own home.
“I knocked, and no one answered,” he says nonchalantly.
“Because we were fucking busy,” I glare at him, feeling like I could punch him for seeing her like that.
“You mean busy fucking.”
“She’s my wife. Is that a crime?” I narrow my eyes, watching him.
“Not in a court of law,” he says it low and slow, the disdain apparent.
“Why are you even here? I haven’t seen you in almost 11 months.” He shrugs again, pulling the coffee cup out from underneath the drip.
“Someone has to work, in case you’ve forgotten. Then, I was in the neighborhood and thought I would check in, see if the honeymooners are still going strong. And apparently, you are.” He holds his mug up, cheersing me.
What the fuck? I still work. Just because I was done doing his good ol’ boy shit, though, he’s pissed?
“What’s that supposed to mean? I told you I was getting too old to do that shit anymore, and you are too. We’re just supposed to keep going until one of us dies?” I’m fucking done toting the “Chets” and their packs of fraternal fuck buddies over mountain peaks. Where the fuck is this coming from?
Looking past me, he smiles and says, “Happy Birthday, Angel.” I turn around and find Emma blushing as she draws her damp hair up with a clip.
Angel? He’s always had nicknames for people. He calls Brit, Doll Face. I tolerate it because she doesn’t mind, but him calling my wife, Angel…fucking hate it.
“Her name is Emma,” I say in a clipped tone, trying not to make a scene. Not sure whose sake that’s for.
“Alex,” she puts a hand on my forearm, “it’s okay. It’s fine.” Looking at Blanks, and with hardly any warmth, she says, “Thanks for the birthday wishes.” She moves past me, then him, to get a mug out to make her own coffee, and Blanks’ fist twitches like he’s about to reach out and do it for her.
Has it always been like this? Or am I just seeing it for the first time?
I look at him, my brows furrowed, and he arches an eyebrow, waiting. Daring me to make the accusation.
My nostrils flare in frustration, and I run a hand down my beard. I’m being paranoid. The glint off the foiled wedding invitation hanging in the mudroom catches in the light like a reminder.
“Just fucking knock, then leave if no one answers next time.”
“Understood,” he says. “Well, as much as I’d love to sit and chit-chat with the two of you, Alex. We need to have a word.”
I nod towards my office.
Shutting the door behind him, I ask, “What is it?” He sits in my chair, putting his mug on my desk as I hover by the door, waiting.
“Scott Technologies.” Yeah. “It’s time to turn and burn.” Fuck. The plan has been to disinvest for months, but now that the time is here, all I can do is stare at the ceiling, thinking.
“You’re worried what’ll happen to her, aren’t you?” Yeah. I would likely never stop worrying about her. I stare at him, though. His look, in turn, is a blatant accusation that I still love Jess enough to lose millions. And I do.
“We’re not gonna do it,” I say with finality.
Blanks scoffs at my decision, shaking his head. “It’s like you hate money.”
I don’t hate it. I just don’t care about it. Certainly not more than I care about her. He leans back in the chair, “So we’re just gonna keep funneling millions into his company until we run dry?” No.
“Tell the board we want a new CEO, give Damian a golden parachute, and then we’ll sell it.” No one gets hurt.
“So much for revenge…” he trails off. It was never about revenge, at least not until recently. I bought Damian’s company so my sister could take half its worth and leave him.
When he and Jess got together…maybe the focus shifted. The new goal was to chunk it off, sell until nothing was left, sink the ship, and devalue the company.
I can’t put Jess through that, though.
“Jesus, you still love her that much?” I’ll likely never stop. I can’t. I know because I’ve tried. It’s not that I don’t also love Emma because I do.
“Why does it matter to you?” I ask.
He shakes his head, shoving the chair back as he stands. He pushes past me, slamming the office door shut on his way out.
Two things could be true at once. I know that. But why do I feel so fucking guilty for loving both of them all of a sudden?
Emma
When the door slams shut, I scurry into the pantry, pretending to look for the granola. The bag of granola that’s right in front of my face.
When I turn around, he’s there. He steps inside the walk-in pantry with me, and my heart stops beating altogether.
I can’t breathe, and every sense is heightened.
The smell of him. The gleam of his blue eyes.
The sound of his ragged breath. It’s like I can see every fiber on his flannel shirt pressed against his hard chest. My skin practically vibrates.
With anticipation, with want, with pain.
“You should have run away from him when you had the chance, Angel.” He shakes his head, the disappointment apparent.
“Take care of yourself. And when he burns you…” He pauses, swiping a thumb along my jawline, “I just hope you can land on your feet.” I want to reach out and hold onto the hand that’s nearly cradling my face.
“And what about you?” I ask his back as he turns to leave me.
“I’ll always be fine, Angel. Don’t worry about me.” He misunderstands my question. I wondered if he would be there, on the other side, but he thought I was asking if he would be okay after Alex’s burns.
But he would be fine, wouldn’t he? There was always some model, right?
There was Kate, the brown-haired goddess he took to the Met Gala.
There was Irene, who spent the month of July at his house in the Hamptons. She absolutely ate in her red, white, and blue bikini.
And then there was Anya, his on-again-off-again ride-or-die.
I didn’t know Blanks was a socialite until a quick Google search showed more Page Six mentions than I had time to read. Maybe socialite isn’t the right word. New York’s fuck boy is more accurate.
And he nails it. Fuck, he could nail anything, I bet.
I can’t bring myself to say goodbye, and he doesn’t say it either. He just walks out of the pantry and out of my life. This time, I have a feeling it’s for good. And that is for the best.
Because his eyes, watching me come apart…
I’ve never come so hard in my life. I wanted to scream, an almost feral energy radiating through me, but I stayed silent, not wanting to take my eyes off him, looking at me.
Looking at me like he hated me but, in the same breath, wanted to be the one inside of me.
God, he confuses me. Makes my skin crawl. And yet, I’ve never wanted to forget him. Not for one second because every time he talks, looks, or touches, I feel this spark of energy. Like I’m actually living and not just going through the motions.
“Sorry. About that.” Alex finds me in the pantry, looking like I’m hiding.
“It wasn’t a huge deal.” I swallow the guilt and finally grab the bag of granola off the shelf.
“Think you’re still up for our hike?” I smile tightly and nod. It’ll be the perfect distraction. Or the perfect opportunity to ruminate on seeing him again.
“Yeah, definitely.”
Today, we’re hiking to the ridge, my first time since being back. The burning in my limbs feels good. The cool air is refreshing, and I feel good.
Except when my mind drifts to him.
I’ll never see him again. I can’t stop the thought from recurring.
He came today, of all days — my birthday. I wonder if it’s a coincidence. Has to be.
We’re just cresting the final turn when Alex stops me, pulling out a blindfold.
“You’re kidding me,” I laugh. I’ve been here before. It’s not like the view was going to be a surprise.