Chapter 20
Twenty
Grady
“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”
George Orwell
She’s staying.
Lying naked, her skin damp with exertion, she holds my cock to her lips while I fuck her with my fingers.
It doesn’t seem fair for her; the pleasure is balanced in my favor.
It’s what she wanted, though. And I can’t complain about the view.
Her lips slide over me, along with her eyes, taking me in, deep and intently.
A moan hums around my shaft, and my abs twitch with impending climax. Not yet, not until she does. Or, at least, until she’s close. The way her thighs shake, she must be close.
I don’t know if she realizes, but there isn’t any pain. No sting of pulled hair, which is mostly all I’ve given her. I’ll nibble hard here and there. I won’t strike. I’ll never strike. Every time we’re together, she drifts further away from what she told me she needed.
She doesn’t need the hurt.
She needs me.
And I need her.
I add a finger, filling her wetness. She presses down on her heels, lifting her hips to meet my hand. I grind my palm down.
She curses—a sign she’s close. Lou cusses and calls my name before she comes. Every time.
She’s staying.
Thank fucking hell, because I can’t hold out much longer. Not when her tongue does that cupping thing, where it curls around my dick like she’s making a channel for it. She draws me in, and I help by thrusting forward. That’s all it takes to throw her over.
But she doesn’t stop sucking me down while she shatters. Her hands find purchase on my hips, and she pulls me closer.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp as I spurt onto her waiting tongue.
She takes it all, not losing a drop. How? I have no fucking idea. She’s magical, a mystical creature that somehow landed in my lap.
Maybe I go a little crazy when we fuck, too.
When I’m spent and she’s swallowed it all down, I collapse next to her, taking her mouth with my own.
“Perfect and right,” I repeat. A safer three words than the ones that want to be voiced. I’ve only told those to one woman. Regardless of what my heart is telling me, my brain says to refrain.
Even if…
She’s staying.
Louisa,
We had good times, you and I. Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been remembering all the best times we had together.
That trip to Jamaica. The time we visited your parents in your quaint childhood home. I remember it all well. Do you?
You must not, since you’ve taken your accident to the press and lied about my involvement. Why would you betray me that way? Especially when I’ve loved you so deeply.
I’m heartbroken.
But I miss you. Please come home. We’ll talk, we’ll make things right. I still love you.
Your Pierre
That’s what Lou woke up to. She showed me when I walked next door to see if she was ready to go to the sandcastle festival.
“We were in Jamaica the first time he hit me. All because a bartender flirted with me. I hadn’t flirted back.
The visit home to meet my parents ended up with him and my mother making daily laundry lists of all my shortcomings.
When I complained, the first night, he told me I was too ungrateful to sleep in a bed provided by my parents.
I slept on the floor of my own childhood bedroom.
Like a dog, he told me,” she says. “He’s reminding me of some of his favorite punishments. ”
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” I say, my jaw painfully tight. He’s hundreds of miles away, but if he were here, I’d dole out some punishment on that fucker myself. Maybe he’d understand it if it came in a form he knows well.
“I’m not scared of him,” she tells me, her eyes squinted, chin high. “I’m fucking livid at his audacity.”
“Good. Hold on to that,” I say, that rising pride I have in her swelling again. How he ever found a way to dim her strength, I’ll never know. Timing in life is everything; maybe he just found her at the worst.
“Oh, I fucking will,” she says, going to the door to put her shoes on, mumbling the whole way. “Fucking cocksucker thinks he can keep threatening me when I’ve left his psycho ass. Piece of shit has another thing coming.”
“Damn,” I mutter.
“Stupid motherfucker can’t figure out that shit has changed. He’s not even supposed to fucking email me anymore.”
“You forwarded it to your attorney?”
“Damn fucking right I did.”
“Where’d that mouth come from?”
“I, I…” she stammers, looking a tad ashamed at the stream of profanity that’s just come out of her. It’s a fucking turn-on. She sees my smile, then shrugs. “I guess I’m comfortable around you.”
Or maybe she’s thoroughly entered the anger phase of healing. She can get to that conclusion in her own time. She’s gotten here quicker than I’d have expected of the woman I first met.
“I’d hope so, considering you had my dick in your mouth last night.” I pull her in so I can wrap my arms around her shoulders.
“Maybe it was your dick in my mouth that made me so dirty.” Playfully, she raises an eyebrow. Said dick grows uncomfortably. Which isn’t surprising. My body seems to react to her every time she’s at ease. Any time she peeks outside of her own head, her own stress, and trauma.
“No,” I say, pointing a finger. “Don’t do that, we don’t have time. And I can’t walk around town all day hard as a rock.” Despite my complaints, I love when she lets this side of her out. They’re glimpses of who she truly is, the part she’s suppressed for too long.
“Then stop talking about your dick,” she says, pressing a kiss under my chin and reaching around to slap my ass.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m ready,” she says, then stills. “I think I’m ready. For whatever today brings. But if I pay too much attention to my phone, you have my permission to take it away from me.”
“We’ll keep busy,” I promise her. “We’ll have fun and try not to worry about all the things the day might bring.”
“Right. Okay. Let’s go have fun,” she says, pulling her shoulders back with determination.
We lock up Irma’s and walk to my house, when a text chimes on my phone. I hesitate to look at it, because I did just say we’d keep busy. But my profession doesn’t really allow for me to be that cut off from the world. It’s not work or my attorney, though.
Juliet:
The pictures from Louisa’s police file are all over the internet already. I’m worried. Do you have her?
Me:
She has herself. I’ll watch her back.
Juliet:
Thank you, that’s what I needed to hear.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, love,” I tell Lou, who blinks wildly and nearly trips over her feet. I grab her arm to steady her. “Careful.”
“Yeah, sorry,” she says, turning her head to hide her blush.
Paige comes running out of the house, her big straw beach bag dragging her down by the shoulder.
“Let me help.”
“Thanks, Lulu,” my daughter says. “It’s extra full, cuz I packed stuff for you.”
“That’s so sweet of you. What do we have in there?”
“Beach blankets, because, duh. Sunscreen. Grandma always says that’s real important for me, but it is for you, too. Because your skin pays you, or something,” she says as they both climb into my truck.
“My skin does make me money,” Lou agrees, suppressing laughter. “That’s very thoughtful of you, I appreciate it. What else do we have?”
“Buckets and shovels and so many snacks. But I brought you fruit, not cookies, since you don’t like sweet stuff as much as me.”
“Thoughtful and observant,” Lou says. “I’m lucky to have such a good friend.”
“What’s observant mean?”
“It means you notice things,” I say. “Details and things that other people might not.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” Paige says with a proud nod.
The two chatter the whole drive into town. Mom and Dad follow in their own car, wanting to be able to come home before us if they got tired from too many festivities. If it’s up to Paige, we’ll be on the beach until dusk.
My kid is a beach rat, at heart. One more reason to get her here and out of the city.
Silently, I sigh, my stomach trying to pretzel itself into a knot of stress.
I don’t have control over what Brenda has directed her attorney to tell mine; there’s no use worrying about it until I have the information.
That’s easier said than done, though, despite the good front I put on for Lou, earlier.
I’ll play the part, today, as best I can, for the two people riding with me. But inside, I’ll be a wreck.
Too many other things are falling into place. I don’t feel lucky enough to get everything I want. My mother’s health, their possible return, primary custody, Lou. Something will fall through. Something always does.
“Apples and blueberries and strawberries. Strawberries are my favorite,” Paige says. “I planted a whole bunch of them with Grandma.”
“I saw that,” Lou says. “When I get my new house, I want to have a big garden, too. But I’ll probably need you to teach me how to do it. I don’t know how.”
“I’ll help! I know lots about it,” Paige tells her.
It’s an exaggeration, of course, but she’s learning.
And what Lou said about her last night is true.
There’s no stopping my daughter when she puts her mind to something.
She’s never been one to drop a hobby when she finds a new one.
She’s a collector of them all. It’s one of her traits that I love most. I’m biased, I love everything about her, but that’s near the top of the list.
Their conversation stays on gardening until we park.
Then, Paige takes over, scanning the beach, already littered with contestants and tourists.
There’s still a thin cloud cover, this early, but the sun is close to breaking through.
Soon, all the people in their hoodies to fight off the morning chill will be casting them aside, along with their shoes.
“Over there.”
We all follow her lead and help her spread blankets out while she tells Lou the order of the day’s festivities.
Hours later, we’ve seen what seems like hundreds of sandcastles. Paige and Lou are now building one of their own. They’re planning out their vision for Riley’s property. Together.