Chapter 30
THIRTY
Despite getting no sleep last night, I wake up early—though it’s still not enough to beat Luke. He’s gone and I think he must be off commanding business matters so close to the conference. Billion-dollar domination waits for no one.
Maybe it’s for the best. How do you face a man after he’s done all those things to your body?
For hours, over and over again. I’m trying not to think about it, but an intrusive memory plays in my head.
The morning sun sneaks in through curtains to wash us in warmth, my back propped on pillows because he wants me to watch as his hands push my knees wide, and his mouth plays leisurely around my clit.
During the start, it was a race for my body to give over as many successive climaxes as possible, but in the intimate hours of the morning, Luke seemed to relish my slow torture.
In this case, it means alternating between open-mouthed kisses and sideway licks with his tongue as if I’m to be tasted from all angles numerously in a different order of sequence.
His arms held me down firmly as he brought my bundle of nerves into his mouth and sampled a sucking motion again.
Thinking about it, the way I reacted makes my skin flush.
I had sworn, begged, and writhed until he finally relented by sinking his cock inside me, not stopping until I clenched in climax around him.
Then we kept going, but I get off the bed pulling myself to the present.
Better to not remember such details because I’ll be turned on again, and I’ve got a very scary feeling that my own hand can’t compete with even the memory of last night.
Feeling some friction between my thighs, I sneakily take a cotton shirt from Luke’s closet and wear it as a short dress.
A quick visit to the bathroom has me freshening up, but before anything more, I need my morning tea.
On my way down, I stop by the guest room Theo is sleeping in. The bed is made. I text him. He responds he’s gone to visit his “Thighs” today.
No sign of Sistine either, but she never lingers in the apartment during the day.
Downstairs, I stop abruptly at the edge of the kitchen.
“You’re still home?”
Luke turns around. He’s whisking a bowl of eggs, but at the sight of me, he stiffens. Have I intruded on surprise breakfast plans? Without glancing away, he puts the bowl off to the side.
His gray-blue eyes roam over my bare legs. He doesn’t speak or move for a while, and then he’s coming towards me.
“What is it?” I ask, suddenly feeling lost as to what happens next.
We’ve thoroughly debauched each other enough to feed this need until the conference, so there isn’t a reason to continue being affectionate.
I explain this to myself, holding onto a chair because the idea of it being over isn’t pleasant and risks some collapsing.
Before I can move, he grabs onto my hips. Luke lifts me up until I’m perched on the edge of the table. “I’m losing my mind.”
“ You are? I am. And the blame is on you.” With jerky annoyance, I part my legs to let him step in between.
He yanks my underwear down. “How can I want you? I’ve already had you so many times already.”
There’s a clawing desperation angrily telling me the same. That now he’s too far away when he’s not inside me. “Once you find out why—let me know. I’m suffering as well.”
He undoes the button of his pants, not bothering to do more than pull them down a little before plunging into me. My head drops back and I go limp from sheer pleasure.
“Hold on to me,” Luke demands, his voice guttural. “Don’t let go.”
I don’t and we lose our minds fucking on the table.
“I can’t think around you,” he accuses afterward.
“I can’t think around you, either,” I accuse right back. “We’re cursed. Or it’s mutual Stockholm syndrome from living together this long. I should move out?—”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Just—don’t.”
My hands grip his shirt and I jut out my chin. He might be able to order around half the world, but not me.
At the sight of my defiance, his expression softens. He carefully traces the lines of my body, shutting his eyes for a long moment before opening them again.
“Are you okay…? I should have asked,” he said. “Before assuming again. If I was too rough?—”
I silence him with a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick, but it’s not, and that triggers a second round. Me holding onto the chair, and him entering me from behind.
Eventually, we use the table for what it’s meant for. Drinking tea, clutching to our past morning routine as if it will save us. Luke is browsing data reports, but more often, I feel his eyes on me.
I’m reading the same few pages of a molecular gastronomy textbook I bought yesterday. My foot taps a rushed beat on the floor. He’s looking at me again.
Between us, possible words swell up, bloating in importance on tongues, but it’s as if any syllable is dangerous with the power to launch an avalanche if we’re not careful.
What has changed between us? That we keep losing ourselves to the most drowning of sensations. That I wish to reach over and hold his hand just to stay connected.
“I’m late, meeting with the lawyer,” Luke says, putting his tablet down.
“You should go.”
He stares.
“The lawyer—” I remind him.
He reaches over for me but is stopped by the sound of my phone. It beeps more than a few times. Someone needs my attention.
I read the messages. My chair clatters behind me as I stand up.
Luke gets up too. “What is it?”
“It’s Ms. Baghdadi,” I say. “She said Mr. Albo has fallen off a ladder. Janice must have asked him to clean the gutters. Fuck. I have to go.”
“I’ll drive you. ”
“Your meeting?—”
“It’ll hold. Let’s go.”
We end up in the hospital in a crowded emergency stall, joining Mrs. Milla and Ms. Baghdadi. Mr. Albo’s arm is in a sling, though he insists he’s not in any pain.
“When did the chores start? You said you were going to tell me.” I’m pacing back and forth, wringing my hands together. Apart. Together. Apart.
“It had gotten better,” Mrs. Milla says. “But then some time passed, and she started them up again slowly. Simple asks. They seemed doable until now.”
Anger and fear and sickening regret for not being able to stop Janice before he got hurt—it’s all swirling inside me. My face falls. “If only I had?—”
“No,” interrupts Mr. Albo. “It’s not your fault. We kept you in the dark and we told you not to pursue any legal action.”
Luke clears his throat. He’s composed, but I read the banked fury in his eyes. “While I understand it’s frightening to go after someone in court, any of you could have gotten seriously injured today. Let me take care of this.”
Ms. Baghdadi pulls her shawl tight over her shoulders. “He’s right. It’s time we stop being afraid. Janice needs to be brought to justice.”
“I’ll go make some calls.” Luke squeezes my hand on his way out.
“She’s planning to rent your room out to another vulnerable person,” Mr. Albo tells me. “I don’t think I could live with myself if we allowed this to happen to someone else.”
I sit carefully on the edge of his bed, my heart clenched at the sight of bandages around his arm. The top of his hand is bruised from where the IV drip is connected.
Luke comes back. He tells us that his lawyers will have results soon. If we can provide written testimonies about Janice’s behavior, it will expedite the process.
When he gets another call on his phone, I’m reminded he’s supposed to be in his own meeting today. After some argument, I tell him I’ll be fine and push him to leave. He finally does.
The nurse comes to inform us Mr. Albo has been upgraded to a private room for the duration of his stay. “The man that was here took care of the bill on his way out.”
Mr. Albo, Ms. Baghdadi, and Mrs. Milla all smile at me. I’m in for an evening of prying questions, but I don’t care. I’m so glad to be here with them. That everyone will be okay.
Later that night, when I go back home, I spend the rest of the evening drafting up a personal testimony of everything I have seen Janice say and do.
There is so much.
Around midnight, I send it to Luke’s email so he can forward it to the lawyers.