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Biting down on my lower lip, I reach forward and squeeze her nipple through her dress. She falls down on top of me, her lips coming to mine. I bring my hand to the back of her head to keep her there. Her tongue dives into my mouth possessively, her body snatching and owning my dick like it’s her most prized possession. She moans into my mouth, but I don’t let her up. When she throbs around my dick and I’m losing myself, spilling inside of her, I still don’t let her up. Finally, she pushes off my chest and stands, pulling her little two-piece bottoms up with her.
Shaking her head, she flashes a half smile. “Why are we like this?”
“Don’t know,” I grunt, zipping up my pants and standing to my feet. The blood from her father slowly spreads closer to us. “But I’m not fucking sorry.”
In the end, all that matters is who made it with you.
-Isa
I don’t know how long I slept for last night, considering I can’t remember what time we got home. I remember the cleanup crew, as Jer had called them, coming in as we were leaving, and I remember falling asleep on Bryant’s lap in the back of the limo. Jer and Devon stayed behind. We had a lot to talk through, and although my father was our main threat in our life, I still needed reassurance that it was safe for Harper to come home. His final words continue to play on repeat, as if a never-ending threat. Between everything, Bryant running for the presidency and Stacey, I wasn’t so sure right now was a good time for her to come home to us.
“You’re up?” Bryant jogs down the steps in sweat shorts and a basketball singlet. Not his usual style, but adds to his youth.
“I am.” Last night was also the first night that I stayed in his room and today, we’re moving all of my things up. I wasn’t surprised when I walked in last night to find the walls as obscure as the midnight sky and furnishings as polished as the finest gold. A double king bed ate up a quarter of the space of the room, while the modern bathroom and twin closet took up another quarter. There was a large window with a patio driving off to the side of the bed, an open fireplace against the wall opposite the bed, and one large black and white abstract art piece which hung on the wall above the headboard. It was surprisingly cozy for someone so cold.
He reaches for the coffee pot and turns to face me. His eyes are hard, his stubble longer as if he hasn’t shaved in a couple days. “We need to talk. A real talk.”
I nod, blowing into my hot mug of coffee. “I know. Now?”
Bryant runs his hand through his hair, shoving it back off his face. “In my office.”
I watch from the corner of my eye as he enters his office space and takes a seat on the chair that’s hidden beneath his desk. I’ve always liked his office. It’s the one room in the house that I feel represents Bryant in a way that articulates all sides of him. From the classical novels lined on his floor to ceiling bookshelves, to his heavy mahogany table that has leather stitched into the top. The décor is seductive and intellectual. Bryant isn’t shallow, he’s layered thicker than cement. His soul is deeper than any ocean, and anyone who dares try to reach the bottom of that ocean would run out of oxygen before even having the pleasure of scratching the surface. He likes it that way. I was built from ice, and he was made from the waters of the Atlantic, but essentially, that same ocean that created Bryant was the very same that I built my ice walls with.
“No more secrets,” I whisper, leaning back against the chair.
“Mmmm, Isa, no more secrets.” I didn’t miss his tone. It was a warning, yet said in jest.
“Why did you make me think that I had gotten away with keeping Harper safe?”
“A lot of reasons.” My eyes found his, and I watch as he turns in his chair to face me. Giving me his undivided attention. “At first, it was because I didn’t trust you. I believed you had gone. I thought you were gone forever, and that your other personality was here for good. I couldn’t continue to see you in that way, so I stopped visiting. I’d call and get updates, but I was always fed the same story, that they hadn’t seen you since after the wedding.”
I believed him, there was no reason for him to lie to me now.
“It still hurts.”
“What does?” he asks, and it’s the first time that I’ve felt a dark cloud slightly shift from me. There was always an ulterior motive to whatever conversation we would have, and I would put my hand on my heart to say that I don’t think anyone has a love story that they’ve had to fight this hard to get, but I believed him. His intentions. He has no reason to lie to me.
