Close to You Page 8

  I blushed, not expecting him to say anything like that. I squirmed a little, anxious to feel his touch, wanting to take that smoldering stare off of my nakedness. I just wanted to feel his body, nothing more.

  “Come here,” I said. “And take those boxers off.”

  He complied, sliding them down, and then he reached over to his nightstand, fiddling in the drawer. He pulled a box of condoms out, tossing them on the bedspread next to me. He got on the bed, hovering above me, his face flushed with lust.

  He kissed me, lazily, using his tongue to trace a line across my bottom lip, his hand brushing down my stomach and toward my aching center. He broke the kiss and looked down, just as his fingers parted my hot folds.

  My mind was then laser-focused on only that one spot, on the rhythm of his fingers and the overwhelming pleasure mounting inside of me. He was watching my face, his eyes searching, and when I felt him insert one finger, and then two, I gasped, knowing that I was close.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby.”

  I did, loudly and spectacularly, my breaths coming out as moans as I rode those waves. He released me after it passed, and I lay there for a moment, blissful.

  I was distantly aware of his movement and then of a ripping sound. He rolled a condom on and then kneeled before me, lining himself up at my entrance. His eyes were hooded, and in that moment, I knew that it was utterly useless to think I would be able to fuck him one time without feeling anything at all. This man had a choice to turn me over to his friend and chose not to. For whatever reason, he saw something in me that changed his mind. He saw the truth.

  “Please, Iain,” I pleaded, sensing his hesitation. I wiggled my hips, and he hissed. Then he plunged into me.

  The fullness of it, the absolute sense of completion, almost drove me to orgasm again. I moaned, adjusting to his size, and then he began to move, picking up a steady pace, his breaths bursting out of him in half-gasps as he took me. I grabbed at his shoulders, pulling his face toward mine and kissing him again, knowing that what I felt for him in that moment was very real. He was more than just a body. He was Iain.

  I was close, and his body slamming into me gave me just the right amount of friction. He picked up the pace, the sounds of our bodies slapping together loud and abrasive. I felt his breaths against my neck, the guttural sounds he released sending new shocks of heat through me. I didn’t want it to end.

  Without warning, I came again, the feeling of it ripping through me with ferocity, and I cried out, a pleading sound. He began to speed up, mercilessly, and then I felt him shudder, his own release joining mine with a groan.

  We stayed like that, for a few moments, until our breathing slowed. He lifted himself up, kissing me softly before removing himself from me, my body feeling oddly empty as he did so.

  “I’ll be right back,” Iain said, and he disappeared into the hall. I heard the sounds of running water, the sound of a toilet being flushed. I sat up, aware of my nakedness in a new way since everything had happened. I was cold.

  I was also very tired, and his bed looked awfully comfortable. I pulled the comforter back and slid under it, resting against a pillow that smelled so much like Iain, it overwhelmed all of my other senses.

  He returned, his face softening when he saw me lying there in his bed. He slid in with me, his warm body pressed up against mine, and placed a soft kiss against my head.

  Warm, content, and secure, I fell asleep, forgetting everything else.

  I was safe.

  Chapter 16.

  The sound of my phone ringing woke me up with a start. I had been sleeping peacefully, cocooned in a sea of warmth, not realizing where I was until I sat up and noticed the window was in the wrong place with unfamiliar sounds drifting through the glass. It was dark.

  A body shifted next to me, and I remembered it all.

  Iain, calling my name on the street - my real one. Iain, telling me that Brandon paid him to find me. And Iain, asking me to come for him in this very bed.

  Fuck.

  My phone was still ringing, and I threw the covers off and stumbled naked out of bed, looking for my clothes. My phone had been tucked into my coat pocket, which was obviously somewhere in the room.

  “What’s the matter?” Iain asked, sleep in his voice. He rustled behind me but I continued my quest for my clothes. My phone finally stopped ringing.

  “It’s late. I slept too long. That was probably Shannon calling, wondering where I am.” I found my panties and slipped them on, along with my bra and jeans. My sweater came last. It was cold from being on the ground for so long.

  “Shit,” he said, and the floor creaked as he got out of bed. I heard the whispering of fabric on skin and turned to look at him sliding his boxers back on, and I flushed, remembering the way I’d asked him to take them off and fuck me.

  A light clicked on, and I found my coat hanging over his desk chair. I grabbed it and pulled it on, pulling my hair out from under the collar. I pulled my phone from the pocket and saw that I had indeed missed a call from Shannon. I flinched, not knowing how I’d explain my absence. I hadn’t intended to be out so long.

  “Michele,” Iain said, stilling me. I glanced at him, trying not to linger on his bare chest and mussed hair.

  “What?”

  “You okay?”

  He looked so concerned. I nodded, forcing a smile on my face.

  “Of course. Thank you for today. And….” I paused, biting my lip, contemplating him. “Thanks for not turning me over to Brandon.”

  He stepped toward me, concern on his face, and pulled me in for a hug. When I caught his scent, my heart surged in my chest, heat pooling between my legs. I wanted him again.

  “Don’t thank me for that.” His voice was rich and husky in my ear, and then he let go of me. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  Iain walked me to the door and waited while I pulled my shoes on. He opened the door for me and leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  “Be safe,” he said as I left.

  If only I could.

  xxx

  Outside, I hailed a taxi, giving the driver my address and settling into the warm backseat. I pulled my phone out and called Shannon.

  “Michele? What’s going on?” she asked as soon as she answered.

  “I’m fine, Shannon. No worries. Just took a day sightseeing.” I bit my lip after the lie came out, hating the way it made me feel to do it. I knew she wouldn’t judge me for being with Iain, but I wasn’t ready to explain everything to her yet.

  I wasn’t even sure what happened today was something I’d repeat.

  “All day?” she asked. “I mean, of course you can do whatever you want, but….” She trailed off, and I filled in the blanks. She was worried I’d get lost or, worse, that Brandon would reach down and grab me like some comic book villain in a movie.

  Which, she had a point. They were things I worried about every day.

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I had my map, and everything was fine. It was… good, to get out today.”

  Not exactly a lie, but I wasn’t sure it was entirely the truth, either. I played the day with Iain over in my head, from the sight-seeing to the conversation in the park to being in his apartment. To the feeling of him sliding inside of me. I shuddered, desire creeping back over me.

  “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’m heading back now. I’ll be there soon.”

  We said goodbye and I hung up, snapping the phone shut and staring moodily out the window. The street was familiar, which told me that Iain lived a lot closer than I had initially realized.

  All this time, and he’d been so close.

  He’d said that he didn’t think it was a coincidence that we’d met, that he thought we met for a reason. How idealistic was that? I looked down at the phone in my hands, remembering the way his lips felt on mine. Everything that happened between us was real, but it certainly wasn’t due to some notion of fate. Everything I was, everything I h
ad... my place in life was a direct result of my own actions. My failed marriage, my choice in men, even my decision to sleep with Iain, were all on me.

  I couldn’t pursue him. He was absolutely everything I’d been trying to avoid. I didn’t want to get involved with anybody in New York; I wanted to recuperate and figure out my next moves. Escaping Brandon had only been step one. Step two was reconstructing my life.

  Iain was only a distraction from that. And even though I was grateful that he was going to drop the case, the fact of the matter remained that Brandon knew that I was in New York. I’d been sloppy. But I didn’t have a choice. Selling my car had been a necessity; I wouldn’t have been able to keep up the parking game in Brooklyn, and the money from the sale gave me a sense of security I needed. Calling Shannon from my iPhone had been a stupid move, and I hadn’t thought that through, but I’d needed to do it. And for all Brandon knew, I could have stayed in the city for only a short time and then moved on. But he was smart and knew that I had few options and next to no money.

  Back home, he’d cut me off from everything, slowly - friends, family, a job, even my own choice in clothing - until he’d whittled me down to next to nothing. I had been little more than a trophy wife.

  A caged bird. A starved bird.

  And if he hired someone else to find me? I’d have to take that as it came. I had very little in the way of possessions, and buying a one-way bus ticket to the other side of the country was always an option.

  The taxi stopped in front of Shannon’s apartment and I paid my fare. I got out, grabbed my keys from my bag and went upstairs, unlocking the door and ensuring it was bolted after I closed it.

  “Hey, Michele,” Shannon called from the living room. I removed my coat and hung it up, as I’d done so many times since I’d moved here. Walking into the living room, I waved at Shannon and Evan watching TV.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, shifting awkwardly. Now that I was home, I wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. I had to work all weekend and weekends were always extremely busy at Catfish.

  “Wanna watch Stranger Things with us? We’re rewatching the first season,” Shannon said, craning her neck to look at me. Her face grew puzzled. “Your shirt’s on backward.”

  Heat raced to my face and I looked down, realizing that she was right. In my rush to get out of Iain’s apartment, I’d thrown on my sweater and hadn’t even noticed that it was backward. I was suddenly hyper-aware of the tag poking against the dip in my clavicle, and I tried to shrug it off.

  “Huh. Guess I didn’t notice when I got dressed this morning.”

  “Weird. Didn’t notice that earlier.” A character screamed on the TV, drawing her attention immediately back to the screen, and I shrugged again.

  “I’ll pass on the show. I’m beat from walking all day.” I gave a theatrical yawn and shuffled to the bathroom, ripping my clothes off and taking a quick shower.

  Washing the scent of Iain off of me.

  My game plan was this: I wouldn’t call him again. If he called me, or showed up at Catfish, I’d just tell him the truth. That it wasn’t a good time right now, that I needed to focus on myself.

  No matter how badly I wanted to feel him between my thighs again, it just wouldn’t work. Surely he’d understand that?

  It was only 9, but I was mentally and emotionally spent. Padding back to my room, I towel-dried my hair and threw on my most comfortable pajamas. Finally ready for bed, I crawled into familiar sheets.

  But sleep didn’t come. Despite how tired I was, my thoughts were racing - I imagined the worst possible scenarios playing out before me. My life unraveled before my eyes, all of my mistakes, my choices. I saw every fork in the road where I went left instead of right, where I collectively found myself faced with a decision that would lead me closer to Brandon or in the opposite direction. Why had I gone to Indianapolis for college? Why couldn’t I have gone somewhere else like Los Angeles, Seattle? I could have stayed in the city where I graduated, like so many of my friends did.

  I had so many dreams, and none of them came true. I met Brandon the summer after I graduated, and I never got a job in my field.

  I became a wife instead, broken and worthless.

  When Brandon and I met, I’d been so dazzled by him, a man twelve years older than me, giving me so much attention. We met at a charity event to which my sister, Clarissa, had dragged me as her plus one. At the time, I’d gone only for the free food and drinks.

  If I’d said no, I never would have met him.

  But he had been there, spruced up in a tux, his dark brown eyes trained on me the second I’d walked through the door. He introduced himself, and we talked all night.

  With a surge of pain, I remembered our first kiss - so different than the one I shared with Iain. Brandon had grabbed me, pulling me flush against him, claiming my lips with what, being 22, I mistook for passion. He took what he wanted in life, and he didn’t wait for my permission. At the time, I had found it hot and romantic, the notion of a man who couldn’t control himself around me. But now, I was wiser.

  It had only been a prelude for things to come.

  Like the first time he hit me, only six months into our marriage, which had completely shattered my trust in him. I should have left then - I had the chance. He disappeared that night, and I didn’t see him for three days. And when he returned, red-eyed and stinking of booze and cigarettes, it didn’t cross my mind how much of a cliché it all was. I didn’t even ask him where he’d been.

  I only remembered feeling that it was an accident, and he would never do it again.

  I was a fucking idiot.

  Then came all the other things: I was guilted out of seeing my friends, told that he didn’t like me working. His emotions were too big for that house, his needs and desires loud and clear. So I made myself smaller, meeker, to make room for him. I complied with his demands, thinking it would make our marriage stronger. Thinking that it was what a woman did, obeying her husband.

  And now?

  I was free of him physically, but mentally, I was still in prison. Brandon had the key. And he would never let me go.

  The tears came, and I didn’t stop them.

  I cried for a long time.

  Chapter 17.

  Iain

  Two days later and she still hadn’t called me.

  In the meantime, the days got colder. The news started calling for snow, for a terrible blizzard that would rock the city to sleep. I paid it no mind. Half the time what they said didn’t happen, anyway.

  Why hadn’t she called me?

  I replayed Thursday in my head, over and over. Chasing her down on the street, telling her everything. Taking her back to my apartment. Telling her about Emily. And then what happened after. My pants tightened every time I thought about being in bed with Michele. The whole thing had happened so quickly - and damn, it had been a long time since I’d been with anyone. And she had been so perfect, her face overcome with lust, breathy moans and creamy thighs begging for my touch.

  And when she asked me to fuck her? Holy shit.

  But something happened afterward, something she wouldn’t share with me. I saw it in her face before she left that night. She’d retreated, and I hadn’t heard from her since.

  I debated calling her, but figured she needed some space. And I had Brandon to take care of; I’d put it off as long as I thought I could get away with.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and out of a mixture of curiosity and boredom I Googled private investigators in New York City, just to see who else was out there. There was a healthy smattering of red dots over the city, and only a few in Brooklyn. I saw my own name, with my work number with my PO Box underneath it. I swallowed and closed the browser out.

  Why me? Why did he call me, out of all the options? Was it simply our connection or something more?

  My phone rang, startling me. It was my dad, and I swiped the screen to answer it, holding the phone up to my ear.

  “Hi, Dad.”

&nb
sp; “Hi, son. How are things?”

  “Same. You?”

  “Also the same. You ready for that big storm that’s comin’?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. Are you?” I replied, standing up and beginning to pace. My dad never called me for just no reason. I was waiting for him to cut to the chase.

  “I’d say so.” There was a hesitation, followed by the sound of him coughing, muffled against the phone. “The reason I called you was to tell you that your mom is in the hospital.”

  I bit back an angry retort, the mere mention of my mother bringing anger fresh to the surface like a scab ripped open.

  “What’s the matter with her?” I asked as levelly as I could.

  “They aren’t sure yet, son. The doctors say her liver isn’t functioning properly, and they have to run some tests to figure it out.”

  Unbidden, a rush of fear swept through me at his words.

  “That sounds… kinda serious,” I said. I was scared, but I couldn’t help but think that an issue with her liver was of her own making.

  “Well, it could be something, it could be nothing,” Dad said. “But I thought I’d let you know, just in case. She’s at Maimonides, room 282.”

  “Thanks. Keep me posted.”

  “You’re going to see her, right?” he asked, with something like reproach in his voice. I sighed.

  “I’m just… not ready.”

  “Son, you know I support you in most things, but this dumbass fight with your mom ain’t one of ’em. Especially now.”

  I grit my teeth, fresh anger pounding through me.

  “My own mother,” I spat, venom is each word, “told me that it was my fault Emily miscarried.” As if I had needed reminding of that.

  “And she’s been sober ever since.”

  “That’s not good enough!”

  “And what would be good enough for you, Iain?”