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Anya rounds the corner up ahead. She looks a hundred times better, her hair shiny, her complexion glowing. Spotting me, she smiles widely, but it drops when she sees how busy it is outside Brad’s room. I nod to Esther to take over, and she moves in, coaxing Pearl away from Brad’s room and collecting Anya. I hate the curiosity on their faces. Hate it even more that being here in this house, in this world, was a better option than returning to their home countries.
I feel James’s eyes on me, and as I face him, I just catch Danny’s short, sharp nod as he walks Rose away and she fusses over him, rubbing gently at the blood on his face while shaking her head, biting her lip, tears in her eyes. “What the hell happened to your face?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” Danny answers shortly, dismissing her.
“We need to talk,” James says, but I don’t face him. Something tells me I won’t like what I’ll see. “Beau?”
“I don’t want to talk.” I turn to him and walk into him, crawling up his body and clinging on. I just want to be for a moment. Be quiet and lost. He holds me under my ass and carries me into our room, and once he’s placed me down, I make slow work of stripping him down, feeling him watching me as I do, his stance solid, his hands lifeless by his side, his tired eyes studying me. He doesn’t help. Doesn’t even try to rid me of my clothes. So I do it myself and push him onto the bed. Then I climb on top of him, lock eyes with his, hold his arousal upright, and sink slowly onto him on an exhale that shakes me, each inch taming the unrest within. His hands move to my hips, his lips part, his eyes become hooded, as I start to circle him slowly, my palms braced on his chest.
“Did you find anything to wear tomorrow?” He strains the words on a hoarse voice, and I smile serenely. He’s trying to make normal conversation during quite abnormal sex.
“Shut up, James,” I order, dropping my chest to his and kissing him hard, my hands delving into his hair and fisting.
I have the upper hand for only a few seconds before I’m flipped onto my back. He pants down at me as his hips gradually push forward and he fills me again, watching me as he does. I suck in air and his eyes smoke. “That good, Beau?”
I shove my hips up, taking him all the way, and he hisses through his teeth. “I don’t know, is it?” I swivel a few more times, working him up, and then shoot up, sending James to his back again, but this time we land on the floor with a thud. I take his dick again and guide him to me, slipping down onto him.
He groans, his back arching, his hands taking my breasts and feeling, pinching, pulling. “Fine,” he relents, moving one hand to my arm and stroking down my scar before taking it to my stomach and circling my bullet wound.
“Want me to help you escape?” I ask. He darts his eyes to mine, surprised, and I grind onto him firmly, swallowing back my whimper at the deep invasion, closing my eyes for a few moments. I see me. Standing before James in his glass box, begging him to take me away. And he did. I don’t know what he wants to talk about, but I know I won’t like it. I see the anguish on his tired face. The suffering. The need to have this done with. I open my eyes. “Give me your hands,” I whisper, and he does, holding them up. Unlike him, I won’t restrain him. Tie him up. Make him helpless. I thread my fingers through his and hold them, moving lazily, watching our hands grip, flex.
Fused.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I think you’re talking too much.”
He smiles mildly, flexing his fingers more. “Are you going to gag me?” He bites down on his bottom lip. He’s close.
“I don’t think we have time.” I take our joined hands down to his stomach and hold them there, gaining memento, thrusting more. He holds his breath. My skin burns. “Go on, James. Let it bend you. Let it break you.” I’m jolted when he jerks violently, throwing his head back, his spine arching harshly, and while watching him bend and break, I come calmly on a mild tremble, my pleasure intense but calm, and mostly coming from watching James fight his way through until his body goes limp and sweat trickles down his temples, wetting his hair. He breathes heavily. Taking a moment in his darkness while I watch him. Feeling his hot essence warm my insides.
I swallow and rest my cheek on his chest, feeling his hand come to my back and hold me. I close my eyes, knowing what James is thinking in his darkness as he strokes me softly between my shoulder blades, slowly throbbing inside me, unsheathed, dripping his seed. Wondering if my body has accepted it. My guilt flames.
“What did you need to talk about?” I ask, cowardly trying to distract myself from my dishonesty.
“It can wait.”
I don’t argue. I just need to be here, quiet, still, and calm for a while.
When I wake up, I’m in bed and James isn’t, which means he’s got us off the floor at some point and put me in here. I didn’t even stir. Slightly disorientated, I sit up, glancing around our light bedroom before I get up and stretch my way to the bathroom, putting myself in front of the mirror. I tie my hair back and open the drawer of the vanity, rummaging to the bottom. I pull out the pack of pills from a cosmetic bag and pop one, pushing back the stupid guilt. Stupid because James didn’t want to try. And now, neither do I. I hide them in the drawer and leave the bathroom, pausing in the middle of the room, looking around me, my brain now more awake. My heart starts a relentless beat. Dad’s funeral.
“Shit!” I search for my phone in the bedsheets, on the nightstand, growling when I don’t find it. I throw on James’s T-shirt, pull on his sweats, and pull the door open. I nearly charge into Zinnea who’s on the other side, fist poised ready to knock. I look down her front, blinking back the blinding sparkle of her outfit. I’m surprised she’s chosen to go all out as Zinnea for Dad’s funeral, to be honest. But then again, it’s the best way to give a finalfuck youto her bigoted brother, one he can’t retaliate to, since he’s dead.
“I’ll be ready in just a minute,” I say, looking back at the room. “Fuck!” I won’t because I don’t have anything to wear. I go to the closet and swing it open, rummaging through my endless pairs of jeans and shirts.
“Ready for what?” Zinnea asks from the door. I pause sliding hangers across the rail and face her, noticing, now my brain is a little more awake, that she’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday.
“What day is it?” I ask.
“The same day it was a few hours ago when we got back from our brief, rather unproductive shopping trip.”
“Oh.” My shoulders drop, and I laugh a little. “I thought today was...” I rub at my forehead. I must have been in a deep, deep sleep.
“Have you eaten today?” she asks, concerned.
I shake my head, my stomach rumbling in response too. “I’m starving,” I admit.
“Esther’s got a big pot on the stove.” She holds her hand out to me, and I take it, letting her lead me to the good stuff. The smell hits me as soon as I get to the top of the stairs, and the sounds from the kitchen confirm it’s as good as always. I walk in and find everyone around the table, and James drops his spoon, standing. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says.
