Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "
Автор книги: Lisa DeJong
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
FAMILIAR SOUNDS COME FROM the kitchen. I groan, concluding that Blake’s never going to follow that rule. I pull my pillow over my ears, but when the blender starts pulsing, I give up and throw my robe on. This is getting ridiculous.
When I open my bedroom door, I spot Blake in only a pair of gray sweatpants, pouring a pink liquid from the blender. I smell strawberries and bananas—one of my favorite flavor combinations.
He spins around when he hears my bare feet on the hardwood. “Good morning.” He smiles. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he does that.
“Breaking the rules again?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
He shrugs. “I didn’t think they were still effective, after last night and all.”
“I don’t see how that changes anything.”
He drops the spoon on the stovetop and steps to me, caging me in with his arms. “It does.”
I swallow, doing everything I can to back away. It’s no use. “But you said . . .”
“I promised to fuck you today, remember? You need to eat first,” he interrupts, his perusing eyes seducing me.
Oh, God. I didn’t forget it, but after how things ended last night, I didn’t take it too seriously. I certainly didn’t think he wanted an early morning screw.
“Cat got your tongue?” he teases, smiling down at me. I want to kiss his perfect, full lips, but I’m not sure that’s allowed. This is all foreign to me.
“Why do I have to be up this early? We have all day.”
He cups my chin in his hand, tilting my head to give his mouth access to my neck. “I’m leaving town this afternoon, and I won’t be back until Monday,” he announces, nibbling on more of my delicate skin. “I need one more taste before I go.”
Resting my hands on his bare shoulders, I’m torn between rubbing them and using my leverage to push him away. In a way, this cheapens me. If I’m going to be at his beck and call, letting him fuck me when he needs his fix, what am I going to get from that? There’s no doubt he feels amazing, but what am I really doing?
“What if I don’t want to?” I ask, lightly pushing against him.
He stops, leaning back to get a better look at me. “Jesus, Lila, I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do. Don’t make it sound that way.”
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not a morning person so this is what you get when you wake me up.”
“Really?” He brushes his thumb against my cheek. “What if I feed you? I made smoothies.”
I love smoothies. “Can I have some of your eggs too?”
His head tilts. “Now, you’re pushing it.”
“I’m hungry. Someone made me work up quite an appetite last night.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I smirk, a new deck of cards falling in my hands. “What if I told you that I have nothing on under this robe?”
He growls, eyes darting to my exposed cleavage. Men can be so easy. “Nothing?”
“Nope.”
He reaches back, grabbing a glass of the smoothie concoction he made and handing it to me. I put the glass to my lips, swallowing down the delicious strawberry-banana drink. He watches me, zeroing in on my mouth. I decide to play with him, licking the cold liquid that lingers on my lips. “That’s good,” I murmur.
Blake presses his body against mine, pulling the glass from my hand. He kisses my chin, then finds my eyes again. “You’re right. That’s delicious.”
He lifts me up on the counter, standing between my spread legs. His hands brush against the inside of my thighs until his thumb makes contact with my clit. Breakfast is burning, but the need to be wrapped in each other is stronger than the need to save a few eggs.
It’s not long until my robe is open, and I’m completely exposed, crumbling in his arms again.
I toss and turn, unable to sleep with my first day of work looming over my head. It’s a test, one I will either pass or fail. It wouldn’t be so bad, but failure means being stuck at a place like Charlie’s for the rest of my life. That I can’t live with.
It’s been two days since Blake and I had sex in the kitchen. When he left soon after, there was no goodbye kiss.
And for the last two days, I’ve missed him, or maybe I’ve missed his hands on me. He said we had to leave our hearts out of this, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m really cut out for that. When I fall, I fall quickly. Love doesn’t come with a parachute; I learned that the hard way.
I quickly shower and blow-dry my hair. Since the rest of my things finally came, I have a whole wardrobe to choose from.
I dress, curl my hair, and carefully apply enough make-up to brighten my appearance but not look too overdone, and head out the door a good ninety minutes before my shift begins to catch the train. If I’m lucky, I’ll have time to grab a latte along the way. I’d kill for one to chase away that Monday feeling.
My body shakes from nerves while I wait for the train and then again while I ride. Feeling as if everything is going to reach a boiling point, I pull my cell phone out and call Mom.
“Hello,” she answers. Just hearing her voice makes everything ten times better.
“Hi, Mom, how are things on the farm?” I ask, noticing other passengers watching me. It’s crowded and being so close to all these strangers is making me claustrophobic.
“Things are good. Just putting up with your father being home during the day, but it will be spring before we know it. This is the best way to wake up, by the way.”
“I’m on my way to my new job, and my nerves are shot,” I confess, tapping my foot against the metal floor. The older woman sitting next to me narrows her eyes so I stop.
“You’re going to do great. Don’t forget how talented you are.” She always knows the right thing to say to calm me down.
“I needed to hear that.”
“I’ll remind you all day.”
I laugh, earning myself a few more stares. “I’ll be okay.”
“I saw Derek in town the other day.” She pauses, and then adds, “He looked really thin. I don’t think he’s taking good care of himself.”
I want to pretend that it doesn’t matter. Derek is the past, but you don’t spend six years with someone and drop every feeling you ever had for him in four months. “It’s probably the workouts.” That’s not what I want to think. I imagine him pining now that I’m gone. I want to be his one that got away.
“He asked about you, but I didn’t say much. I was in a hurry.”
“It’s none of his business anymore,” I answer. “Look, can we just talk about something else?”
I hear the buzzer on her oven go off. She bakes fresh bread every morning so it’s as familiar as my alarm clock. “Give me just a second. I need to grab that.”
“Oh no,” I stop her. “I need to get going anyway. I’ll talk to you later, Mom. Thank you for the pep talk.”
“Knock ’em dead or whatever it is they say.” Her smile travels through the phone line.
“I will.”
For the rest of the ride, I watch Chicago go by through the window. As strange as it sounds, it’s starting to feel more like a place I can call home. I’m surprised I’m even thinking that, but the snow-covered streets and chance to live my dream make it feel that way.
The train stops a couple blocks from my new office building. I walk out and look at my watch, realizing I have just enough time to grab a quick cup of coffee from the coffee shop at the corner. I wait in a long but fast-moving line, grabbing my latte and a blueberry muffin before making my way to Stanley Development. I take a long, deep breath and open the glass door to the expansive entry.
One more inhale, and I’m at the elevator. It dings, and I cram myself inside with about ten other people. It stops a few times before reaching the twelfth floor.
I head straight to the granite desk, smiling at the same blonde receptionist who was working the other day. “Good morning, Lila. Are you ready to begin?”
I’m taken back. She remembers my name. Who does that? “Yes.” I pause, looking at her nameplate. “Ms. Dwyer, I am.”
She motions to the waiting area with a bright smile. “Call me Jane. Take a seat. Someone will be out in just a minute to get you.”
I do as she says, setting my breakfast on the table so I can pull off my jacket. I want to look ready to work when they come out to get me.
“Here, let me take that.” I turn around, seeing Jane behind me with her hands extended.
“Oh, thank you.”
She walks to a hidden closet, wrapping my coat around a hanger. “When you’re ready to go, it’ll be in here.”
I nod, taking a seat in one of the leather waiting chairs. I cross my legs and nervously clasp my hands in my lap. A few people whiz by without giving me a second glance. It’s torture—being shut inside a box with a bunch of strangers.
“Lila.” My eyes shoot up, taking in the view of Pierce Stanley in a charcoal suit and black tie. His suits obviously don’t come off the rack; they’re made to fit every part of his strong body.
“Hi,” I reply, standing on unstable knees to offer him my hand.
He obliges, enveloping my small hand in his. “Follow me to my office. I have a few things I want to go over, and then I’ll hand you over to human resources.”
As I follow, I can’t help but wonder if he meets with all of his new employees on their first day. It doesn’t seem a guy like him would have the time.
He ushers me into the same oversized office he’d interviewed me in. “Have a seat,” he says, rounding to the other side of his mahogany desk. “How was your weekend?”
My vision fills with a naked Blake, and my cheeks burn red. “It was good. How was yours?”
He chuckles, deep and throaty. “Not too exciting, but I’m hoping this one will be better.”
“Big plans?”
“Actually, Lila, I was hoping you’d accompany me to a benefit. There will be lots of people from our industry you can mingle with. Networking is an important part of the big picture.”
I was expecting a ‘Welcome to the company’ or something along those lines. “Isn’t fraternization against company policy?”
His lips curl as he leans across his desk. “Not necessarily. Besides, it’s a business meeting, not a date.”
My cheeks flush, the product of being caught jumping to conclusions. I’ve spent time with Pierce. I know we can carry a conversation, but this is a lot to take in on your first day of work. Besides, there’s this whole thing with Blake. It’s not exclusive, and he doesn’t have any hold on me . . . it just feels weird. “Okay,” I finally answer.
“Good, my car will pick you up at seven-thirty. Leave your address with Jane, please.”
“Is there anything else, Mr. Stanley?”
He smiles. “Yeah, call me Pierce.”
I smile back; his is contagious. “Anything else, Pierce?”
“No, I’m leaving for New York, but have a nice week, and I’ll see you Saturday.”
I nod, standing from my chair. “Thank you. You too.”
When my hand curves around the doorknob, I look back one more time and see Pierce staring—actually, more like drinking me in. I do what I’m good at when things get uncomfortable . . . run. Too much intensity. Too much risk.
The rest of my day isn’t quite as interesting as the first few minutes. It’s filled with paperwork and boring videos, thinking about Pierce and replaying his words every chance I get. By the time five o’clock hits, I’m more than happy to walk out the door, but I take my thoughts of Pierce with me.
AS I SLIDE MY TIRED, achy body into the warm bath water, all I can think about is how I’m going to hold two jobs. One day at Stanley and I’m wiped. Just thinking about going from there to Charlie’s two nights a week exhausts me.
The lavender bubbles cover my breasts as I lay back against the porcelain claw foot tub. I’ve wanted to sink into it since I moved here, and now with Blake gone, I need a distraction.
He said he’d be home this afternoon, and even though I have no claim to him, I’ve been worried. I wanted to text him, but that’s not possible since I don’t have his cell phone number. What kind of person does that make me? I fucked a guy—twice—and I don’t know his number, his middle name, or much of anything about him besides what he likes for breakfast and that he can be a pain in the ass.
Closing my eyes, I seek my happy place—wherever that is. It’s been buried underground for the past few months, but I’ll find it again. I have to.
Human resources promised I’d get to do some actual work tomorrow. That should help—get me back in my element and meet the people I’ll be working with. I just hope my apprenticeship means more than professional coffee fetcher and copy runner.
I sink down a little further, covering my bare shoulders with the fragrant bubbles. This is definitely the beginning of my rainbow.
Just when I’m finally settled in, I hear the faint sound of the door clicking and pry my eyes open. Footsteps follow, then silence again. “Lila!” Blake yells.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Bathroom.”
More footsteps, then the bathroom door swings open. He walks in looking exhausted—dark circles, blood shot eyes—and leans back against the vanity. His jeans are covered in colorful paint stains, and his red flannel is unbuttoned, showcasing an old Nirvana T-shirt. Even with all that, desire pools between my legs. I adjust my position in an attempt to chase it away, but that only makes it worse. It’s been two days, almost three, since he’s been inside me. I thought it was okay, that I had absolutely no attachment to him, but my body remembers exactly what he’s capable of.
“You’re home,” I finally say, unable to find any other words.
He rubs his palm against his forehead, staring down at my covered body. “It’s been a long day. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
I narrow in on him. He’s not acting like himself—no snide comments or teasing. I don’t like it. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” he answers, connecting his eyes with mine. They’re a window to something much darker. I don’t know him all that well, but I don’t need to in order to recognize it.
This is new territory for me because if Blake were mine—really mine—I’d pull him in my arms and hold him tight until all the darkness disappeared. There has to be another way to make this better.
“Do you want to join me?” My voice shakes. Sharing a bath seems so intimate, but I can’t watch him stand there like that for much longer.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he assesses the bubbles again. I close my eyes because I can’t watch. One more second of this and I’ll be climbing out of this tub and wrapping myself around him.
“I can’t,” he murmurs right before the door opens and closes again.
Without any way to argue, I sag even deeper into the water. My chest tightens as I realize that I want to know more about him. I want to know what made him the way he is, why his moods shift like the blade of a windmill.
When my skin prunes, I grab a towel from the hook and climb out. It appears the only way I’m going to make this day better is to climb into my nice warm bed and drift off to dreamland.
I pull on a light blue camisole and matching pajama pants and run through my nightly bedtime routine before falling onto the pillow top bed.
Sleep doesn’t come as easily as I’d hoped. I’m tired, I feel it in every single muscle in my body, but my brain won’t shut off. It shifts from work to Blake then starts the cycle over again.
After trying with no luck for over an hour, I throw the covers off and stalk to the kitchen for a glass of milk. Before I get too far, the light shining under Blake’s door stops me. I swear he hasn’t slept in days, and God knows he needs it.
I carefully walk across the living room and put my ear to the door, hearing the faint sound of his paintbrush on canvas. I teeter between going in and just letting him be. It becomes an easy decision when I hear something crash to the floor.
When I open the door, my breath leaves me. He’s not okay. Not at all. He’s crouched on the floor, pulling his hair between his paint-stained fingers. His back is to me so I can’t see his face.
I chance a couple more steps, and he still doesn’t glance back. I’m suspended on a tight rope, and one wrong move will send me crashing to the ground. It’s the risk I’m taking—ending whatever Blake and I have before it even really starts.
“Blake,” I whisper, scared of disturbing something.
His shoulders sag further. I want to touch him, soothe his demons. He’s motionless, like a sculpture at the museum. I hesitantly kneel behind him, placing my palm in the center of his back. He flinches, yet I keep it there. Something deep inside tells me I should.
After seconds of nothing, I crawl to his side, trying to get a glimpse of his face. His jaw’s clenched, the muscles in his neck twitching. Somewhere under that anger is misery and heartache. I see it.
This man is drowning, and I’m trying to save him.
If only he’d let me pull him to the surface.
“Blake,” I whisper again, barely brushing the side of his cheek with the back of my fingers.
Instead of pulling away, he leans into my touch. For a moment, it’s as if I found him under the water, and I have some sort of grip on him. I want that to be true.
“You should go back to bed,” he finally says, his voice strained.
“You should go to sleep.”
“Lila, I’m not your fucking problem. You don’t have to be here.”
“I want to, and I’m not leaving until you sleep.”
He sighs, gripping my wrist to pull my hand from his face. Battles with Blake are always complicated, but this one might take the cake. He stands, careful not to look at me in the process, and hurries to his bathroom. If he wants, he can stay inside for hours, but I’m still going to be here, sitting against his bed, waiting.
Seconds later, the shower starts. I lay my head back against the mattress and do my best to evaluate everything that’s happened since I moved here . . . how lost I feel with Blake. The two things he’s made me feel are pissed off and turned on; the disparity between them frustrates me. This whole thing was a bad idea. Blake and I were never meant to be “us.” I was naïve to think I could do this without letting my feelings get in the way.
The water shuts off, and two minutes later Blake emerges wearing only a pair of sweatpants. When he sees I’m still in his room, he pauses, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Go back to bed.”
“I’m staying until you fall asleep,” I announce.
“I’m not sharing my bed,” he bites back, his large hands resting on his hips.
Frustrated, I stand in front of him. “I don’t want to sleep in your bed, Blake. I just want you to sleep. Period. When was the last time you slept?”
He grips my arms, bringing his eyes level with mine. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. Go. To. Bed.”
I’ve never had someone look at me like this. There’s a fuse on the verge of being flipped yet it doesn’t stop me.
“I don’t think you really want me to.”
His face twists. “The fuck I don’t.”
I wriggle my arms free, and cradle his face before he has time to react. He attempts to pull away, but I’m strengthened by determination. My lips search for his, and when we touch, I wait for him to give in. He needs this as much as I do.
His hands land on my shoulders. He pushes, but then my lips melt him. His rough fingers brush against my collarbone then slide up my neck. He’s conceding, and there’s no going back now.
As he deepens the kiss, I trail my hand down his stomach and slip it into his pants. He groans when my fingers wrap around his hard cock, and when I start stroking him, his breathing quickens. I relish in this—in giving a man like him pleasure. It does just as much for my self worth as it does his psychological wellbeing.
He’s going to be my vice and virtue all in one—my wrongdoing and good deed. Every game has a winner and loser, but when he’s buried inside me, the end game is the last thing I want to think about.
With a quick motion, I’m lifted into his arms and my back’s against the wall. He’s pressed between my legs, but I need more. Leaving one arm wrapped around me, he uses his free hand to pull the collar of my shirt down below my breasts, sucking my nipples with his perfect mouth. I move against him to satisfy my own need.
Blake lifts his head, his lips a mere whisper from mine. “What do you want, Lila? Do you want me to fuck you?”
I swallow, unable to find the right words. All understanding of what the hell I’m doing left me a long time ago.
He wraps my ponytail around his hand, using it as leverage to pull my head back. “Stand up,” he demands, never letting go of my hair. As soon as my feet find the floor, he pulls my pants down, covering my sensitive flesh with his fingertips. A few strokes and I’d be done for. He tugs my hair harder—it’s pleasure, not pain. My knees buckle. His fingers stall, but his hand is still on me. I want to beg him to do it all over again . . . I’d do anything.
“Do you want more?”
I nod. Another stroke.
“Fingers or cock, Lemon Drop?”
I hesitate for only a second, and he removes his fingers. Jesus, this is unfair.
“Cock. I want your cock,” I choke out. I’ve never craved something so much.
He lets go of me and leaves me standing alone against the cold wall as he retrieves a condom. He stands a few feet in front of me, putting on a show of discarding his pants and rolling it on. He’s throbbing . . . ready for me.
“Strip,” he instructs, watching me. I pull the camisole over my head and step out of my pants while his eyes follow my every move. This isn’t playing out like I imagined it would, but I’ve never been more turned on.
He saunters over and lifts me up again. Wasting no time, he buries himself deep inside me. There’s nothing gentle about it. Rough and heady; just what we both need.
I think of all the reasons I should run while he’s giving me multiple reasons to stay.
He pins my arms above my head as he pounds into me over and over again. There’s an overwhelming urge to touch him, and the fact that I can’t is turning me on even more.
“Do you like when I bury myself in your tight little body? No one else fucks you like this, do they?”
I can’t speak, but he’s right. I love when he fucks me, and he’s the only one who’s truly ever fucked me.
“Look at me.” I open my eyes, not wanting to test the already rough waters. “Come for me, baby.”
I gasp, and my walls squeeze his cock over and over again. “Blake,” I moan, feeling an intensity I’ve never felt before. He follows right behind me, letting go of my eyes to bury his face in my neck. I scream out when his teeth sink into my skin.
When our breathing returns to normal, he kisses my lips softly—nothing like what we’d just done. He looks sated. The pain that was etched on him earlier has been replaced with the afterglow of sex.
“Do you think you can sleep now?” I ask, throwing my arms over his shoulders and pecking him on the mouth.
“I might be close. Maybe after another round or two.”
My eyes widen.
He lowers me to the ground, withdrawing himself along the way. “Hey, I’m kidding. You better get some sleep,” he says, brushing the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.
I nod, fully aware that I have to be up for work in a few hours. “You too, or I’m crawling into your bed until you do.”
He smirks. “I dare you.”
My hands rest on his muscular chest. “Blake, you need to get some sleep.”
He expression falls. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Let’s make a deal,” I say. “If you go to sleep, I’ll make you breakfast before I leave for work.”
The smile I love so much is back. “Now that’s a deal.”
Rolling my eyes, I pick my pajamas up off the floor and head toward the door. Blake doesn’t move or say a word. It would be so easy to turn back around and let him sink into me again.
It won’t be good for either of us. He’s someone I miss when he’s not around, and I can’t afford an attachment like him. He’s hiding behind me—in me—when what he really needs is to face whatever it is that’s eating him up inside. Just thinking about it makes me feel like a hypocrite because I ran to Chicago to get away from my shit. I guess we’re both lost in our own way.
