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It doesn’t come.
Instead, the mattress groans and the drawer beside me slides open. I turn my head just in time to see him take out a condom.
The sight catches in my throat. Of course, safe sex is important and all, but he didn’t think twice about fucking me without protection before. Now, I feel like another number, another girl in his bed. The thought makes me want to set his whole fucking yacht ablaze.
I can feel a bitter retort creeping up my throat, but I bite down on the pillow to stop it.This is what you wanted, remember?As fucked-up as it seems, sliding into me without a rubber falls into the category ofnice.
My stomach tightens as he pulls down my shorts. The fabric slides over my ass fast, then the movement slows down my thighs and with a hot whip of embarrassment, I realize why. Thefucking tattoo.In the storm of dead men and key rings, I’d forgotten all about it. How could I? It’s a big red heart with the nameRaphaelswirled through the middle of it.
A ragged exhale slips from his lips and dances up my spine. “Is this a joke?”
“Tayce…” I swallow. “It’s temporary.”
Foil crinkles, latexsnaps.
“How very fitting,” he says quietly, before plunging into me without warning.
Pain sears through me, but nothing is as painful as the weight of his palm on the small of my back. He’s holding me awkwardly, covering the tattoo. I breathe deeply, trying to adjust. Despite the pain simmering to a delicious heat, I realize it doesn’t fill the hollowness in my core like it did yesterday, but rather just move it north, so it sits somewhere behind my breastbone instead.
Rafe fucks me like he would a whore he’d paid in advance, before turning up and realizing she looks nothing like her photo. Then he fucks her anyway because she doesn’t do refunds.
Each stroke feels clinical, like a step toward an end goal. Devoid of emotion, and it doesn’t come with roaming hands or strangled Italian.
He fucks me until I can’t bear the animosity. Until I’m on the brink of tears. Just as I turn around to grab his wrist, the wordsI’m sorrybrewing on my tongue, his thighs tense against my ass and an animalistic groan escapes him.
My eyes sweep up to his, and he traps in his violent stare as he comes. He doesn’t release me from it, not when his breathing shallows, nor when he pushes me off his dick.
It’s me who turns away first. As my head falls back to the pillow, the bed dips again and he’s gone with the click of a door.
I’m left with silence and another set of contradictions a whole lot worse than the last.
The ice-blue sky darkened hours ago, and now my restlessness is lit by moonlight and the floor lamp in the corner of the library. Sleep wouldn’t come to me now even if I was narcoleptic.
I’ve spent the last few hours wearing a path in the carpet from the sofa to the badly-built bookshelf. The routine is well-rehearsed: I pick up a book, crack its spine, gloss over introductions, and glare at diagrams. Then I toss it into theI don’t give a fuckpileat my feet.
In the silence, the truth is too loud. There’s only one thing I give a fuck about right now and he’s three rooms over.
He flew all the way to Atlantic City to take the heaviest load off my back, and all he wanted was athank you.The word has blistered my skin all night. I didn’t want to say it because the man has already coaxed apleasefrom me, twice,but also because…why?
Every man has a motive, and Rafe’s makes no sense. If I’m so unlucky to him, why not just kill me, instead of someone on my behalf?
Letting out a frustrated groan, I slamTennis for Dummiesshut and drop my head to the back of the sofa. I ache in all the places he didn’t touch me earlier. There’s a persistent throb at the base of my skull, which strengthens every time I close my eyes and see Rafe’s violent gaze as he came inside a condom.
I’m hot.Feverish.Hoping a blast of December will put my world to rights, I shoot to my feet and fling open the door that leads to the deck. As I stand under its frame, icy wind pushes past me, rippling all the soft fabrics in the room and rustling book pages.
Numbness claws at my bare thighs, and a tremor ripples down my spine. Suddenly, my focus on the black abyss softens. That tremor…it didn’t come from inside me.
“Oh, no, no, no,” I whisper. But before I can retreat, the night’s sky lights up purple, a white flash of lightning streaking through the middle of it.
The only thing worse than a thunderstorm is being trapped on aboatin the middle of a thunderstorm. My heart stumbles with every beat, and a clammy sweat clings to my skin. Fumbling with the lock on the door, I press my back against it and squeeze my eyes shut.
Luck has all but left you,I try to reassure myself.You haven’t been lucky in weeks.
But the next zap of lightning floods the room, bringing all my demons to light.
You know how lucky you are, kid? You’re one in a million.
One in a million.
