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Seems we’re all birds in a gilded cage.
“Whatcha doing out here?” Niko asks, slinging an arm around my shoulders.
I’m not cold, but I snuggle into his warmth anyway. When I do, I get a whiff of his scent, which I can only describe as clean and manly, as if the soap he uses is lightly scented with lime.
In another lifetime…
No. I can’t think like that.
Thisis my life. And it’s a fucked-up mess.
But Niko’s touch gives me an idea, something that’s become a fallback of sorts when I want my mind and body to take a vacation to someplace I can’t actually go.
Without a word, I take his hand and lead him to a bench in the garden under a huge old oak, and with my hands on his shoulders, direct him to sit down. I pull up my nightie and straddle him with a knee on either side of his hips. He’s looking up at me, and while I can’t really make out his expression in the dark, I find he’s smiling slightly when I run a finger over his lips.
His beautiful lips, the ones that crook into a half-smile that brings me—and probably all of womanhood—to our knees.
The man has no idea.
As soon as I’m hovering over him, his hands are between my legs, exploring, looking for a sign that will reveal what I want.
Not that there’s any doubt.
When I grind into his palm, he runs his fingers between my lips before zeroing in on my clit. I moan lightly and without a word, he slides his sweatpants below his hips. After a couple strokes of his hard cock, he directs himself toward my opening.
I bury my head into the crook of his shoulder and lower myself onto him, instantly transporting myself away from the deviant life that’s sucked me into its clutches, and toward a sort of nirvana, however temporary, where suffering either disappears or never actually existed to begin with.
I raise and lower myself on him and the only sound is our breath and the breeze in the oak tree above us, and I’m floating through the headiness of my approaching orgasm. In a moment of lucidity, I wish life could be like this all the time, all day and night where mothers don’t die, fathers don’t gamble, and little sisters are happy.
* * *
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Charleigh
“I love you.”
I am jerked out of my post-orgasmic bliss by the whisper of a man in my ear, leaving me irritated like when someone wakes you up and you’d rather keep sleeping. I grimace, forcing my eyes open and remember I’m on top of Niko, who’s still inside me. He’s brushing the hair out of my face, and if it wasn’t dark I’d probably see him looking intently at me, waiting for an equally romantic response.
But if it wasn’t night and I could see him, my response would be the same as it is right now, and that’s no response. I can’t respond to a gesture like that, no matter how kindly it’s intended.
I just can’t.
An itchy restlessness creeps over me and I want to run, as if that will get me away from it and my distressing feelings.
I silently uncouple myself from Niko and in a panic, am not sure what to do.
“I’ve told you before,” he says.
“Hmmm? Told me what?” I ask, stalling.
Oh my God. I’ve got to get out of here before I fall into a full-blown anxiety attack. My heart is already pounding in my chest. I’m on the verge of tears. And I really don’t know why.
“When you were unconscious. After the attack. I told you then.”
Icouldtell him how I feel about him. Ishouldtell him. But the words won’t come. I can’t give that much of myself away when I am barely hanging on.
So I bolt.
