Heartless, page 33
His fingers work to unfasten my bra, and I let it slip down my shoulders and fall to a delicate crumple at my feet. Determined hands slide down my sides, stop at my hips, and pull me into him.
My bare chest against his.
My breath, elusive and evading.
With closed eyes, I slick a hand up his steel arm and snake it up to the nape of his neck. Gathering his thick, dark hair between my fingers, I focus on the mink-like softness. It’s a nice distraction from the chaos in my head and the fire between my thighs.
“Calypso, look at me,” he says.
My eyes part to find him studying me. I find the whole idea of eye contact during sex to be grossly uncomfortable. The only sex I’ve ever had was in the dark, eyes closed tight. You don’t get to share a house with twenty other people and have crazy, adventurous sex.
“I want you.” His words send a burst of flutters from my stomach to my knees.
Crew’s hands slide down my thighs and veer toward my ass, cupping it and hoisting me up at the same time. My legs wrap around him and hook at the ankles, my arms resting on his shoulders.
I’m weightless.
He carries me down the hall, like he’s been here before. And in a way he has. Our apartment footprints are identical.
I press my lips against his and make an executive decision to drown in his scent. Maybe if I inhale him enough, it’ll drown out the specks of doubt clouding this deliciously reckless moment.
The last time I pressed my half-naked body against another man, I daydreamed of wearing his ring around my finger as I nourished his baby in my belly.
Crew’s kisses are different from Mathias’s. His touch is different. He’s hungrier. Worldlier. More experienced. Making love to Mathias was quiet sex wrapped in a warm blanket. Soft and gentle. Benign really. The earth didn’t move, but I swear my soul did at the time.
How naïve I was.
I love his hungry kisses. I want him to kiss me harder and harder. I want grazing teeth and prodding tongues and breathless bites.
I want him deep inside me, shoving himself as deep as he’ll go, filling the empty parts of me I never knew existed until this moment.
Crew drops me on the bed and lunges for my panties, ripping them off and tossing them across the room. I don’t care that my bed is unmade and my room is unkempt. I don’t care that the only things adorning my simple room are a needlepoint I found at a secondhand store and a hand-carved Seed of Life made from mango wood. I don’t need much to be happy.
Besides, the more shit you have, the harder it is to pack up and leave.
He climbs on top of me, and my stomach somersaults. He’s hard as a rock, and I’m slick and warm. One wrong move, and he’ll slip right inside me, I’m sure of it.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he growls into my ear, moving his lips against my cheek. I feel him smile, and he peppers kisses in a trail from my ear to my neck before taking a detour back to my mouth.
Crew’s left palm circles my swollen nipple, and he gathers a handful before bringing his tongue to circle wet rings that leave my skin damp and my body yearning for more.
My hips relax, widening for him, for what’s to come.
And it can’t come soon enough.
The unexpected sensation of his fingers slicking my seam causes my breath to hitch before I melt back into the sheets. I reach for him, desperate to feel his cock fill my palm.
I pump his hardness and watch the veins in his neck flex and strain as our eyes meet.
“Do you have a condom?” he asks. “Fuck, Calypso. I didn’t bring one. I didn’t think this . . .”
I shake my head.
Of course I don’t have a condom.
He groans, burying his forehead against my shoulder.
“I can’t have kids.” I blurt the words that have echoed hard in my ears the last few years. I cup his face in my hands and bring his mouth to mine. I want him to kiss me hard, like he did a minute ago. I want to forget. I want him to keep going.
“Calypso . . .”
My lips burn into his, and I squeeze my eyes so tight they hurt. I’d rather feel pain than let them cry another tear over my cruel fate.
“Just keep going, keep going,” I whisper. “Don’t stop. I want this. I want you so bad.”
I reach for his cock, pointing it between my thighs and grinding my hips back and forth.
“Please, Crew . . .”
He couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to be cast aside because you’re not woman enough to be with the man you love more than anything in the world. I would’ve killed for Mathias. And in the end, not being able to give him a baby was the wind to our flame.
Crew kisses me, though his body hovers above mine just enough to tell me we’re still stuck in neutral.
Maybe he doesn’t believe me. I’m sure plenty of girls have used the old “I can’t get pregnant” line to . . . get pregnant. He has every right to doubt me.
Hot tears sting my eyes, and I’m grateful for the dark flooding my bedroom. I twist my head to the side, letting the tears roll into my pillow before he has a chance to notice.
“If you don’t want to . . .” I whisper, daring myself to meet his gaze.
He’s frozen. Concentrating. Unreadable.
“If you don’t believe me . . .” I can’t finish my thought because I don’t know where it’s going. I want him to say something. Anything.
“I believe you, Calypso.” He brings his hand to my cheek and catches a rogue tear.
My chin trembles. I hate feeling so vulnerable, so exposed. My teeth sink into the inside of my lip until I taste blood, and the overwhelming urge to cry evaporates for a moment.
Before I have a chance to let another thought rise to the surface, I’m impaled. One slick thrust, and Crew’s cock is buried deep inside me. I release a breath I didn’t know I was harboring and tuck myself under the canopy of his arms.
His mouth lowers to mine, and he presses his lips hard against me as his hips roll and push. For a sliver of a second, I think of his old nickname—The Jackhammer.
This is not Jackhammer sex.
Crew pulls my legs high against his sides and enters me deeper this time. A rush of pleasure drowns a quick jolt of pain. Over and over. Slow and intentional. My arousal crests and falls, ebbs and flows.
I focus on his steady breathing in my ear, the rise and fall of his chest against mine. With each impalement, I feel like me again. Like a woman worthy of this.
I don’t want to hide from the world anymore.
I want to enjoy it.
My thoughts quiet long enough for me to lose myself in this moment. An intense flash and the inundating waves that follow meet the visceral grunts escaping Crew’s perfect lips as his body tenses and shudders over mine.
When it’s over, he rolls off me and slips his fingers in mine, interlacing them.
17
Crew
Calypso’s body quivers when I palm her soft belly. I could touch all of her, everywhere, all of the time, and it still wouldn’t be enough. Hooking my hand on her hip, I roll her to face me, my opposite hand interlaced with hers.
“I can’t stop touching you.” I can hardly breathe, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the sex or because of the way I feel with her.
“I’ve noticed.” She offers a coy smile. With one free hand, she reaches for the top of her hair and undoes her messy knot. An ocean of waves falls around her bare shoulders.
Fuck plastic.
Fuck silicone tits, bleach blonde hair, lip injected pouts, and fake eyelashes.
I’ll take a Calypso any day of the week.
Living in Vegas, it’s easy to see how a man could get used to a diet of processed Barbie fuck toys. But everything about Calypso is natural and organic. From now on, I’m going back to basics.
The glaring orange numbers on her alarm clock remind me I have ten minutes to get home. I’m sure Emme’s out and Noelle’s passed out on the couch, but I’ll have to hear about it all day tomorrow if I don’t come home when I promised.
“I don’t want to leave.” My hand grazes her cheek before I lean in to steal a bit of a kiss.
Calypso’s hand releases from mine and she pulls herself off the bed, gathering her hair at the nape of her neck and sweeping it over her shoulder. Black smudges line her eyes.
She didn’t need the makeup anyway.
Her bed is lumpy, piled with covers. It sucks you in and wraps you up. I could stay here for years and never leave. Just lay here. Stare at Calypso. Study the freckles on her arms and the intersection of her high cheekbones and delicate brow line.
Calypso’s like one of those paintings in an art museum, the kind you’ve seen a thousand times, but each time you look, you notice something new.
I could never get tired of looking at her.
I drag myself up in time for Calypso to tug a sheer white t-shirt over her head. It hits just below her peach-shaped ass.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She tugs on the hem of the shirt and flashes an uneasy smirk.
“Just admiring my work.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“That glow on your face?” I brush past her, my hand on the door. “I put that there.”
She wrestles a smile before her jaw falls. “Cocky much?”
“Not cocky. Proud.”
She follows me down the hall and toward the living room, where my clothes lie scattered around the room. I pluck a sock from a lampshade and slip it over my right foot.
“Proud because we just had sex?” Her hand hooks her hip, but her eyes go everywhere they please. She’s admiring me just as much as I admired her.
“You’re sexy as fuck, Calypso.” I slip the second sock over my foot and find my boxers. By the time I’m zipped into my jeans, I make my way to where she stands and cradle her bare face in my hands. “And I know you don’t fuck just anyone.”
“Oh, so now you think you’re special?” Her eyes smile.
“I fucking know I’m special.” I kiss the top of her head and let her go.
It’s easier to feign arrogance than to have a legitimate conversation about what the hell just happened and how fucking amazing it was.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asks—blurts, actually. The wide expression on her face says she’s just as shocked that she asked as I am.
I yank my shirt over my head.
“Parents,” I say. “My parents are coming over. Probably have lunch with them and Noelle. Nothing after that. You?”
“Will this be the first time they meet Emme?”
Shit.
I fall into the sofa and massage my temples.
That’s what happens when you live for the moment. You don’t think about important things, like how you’re going to introduce your shiny new baby to your parents, specifically your conservative father with a heart condition and your control-freak mother with a mean streak.
“Hadn’t thought that far?” Calypso laughs, taking the spot next to me.
“I don’t even know what to say to them.”
“They’ll take one look at that face and get over it, I’m sure.”
“You don’t know my parents.”
“Right. But she’s here. Can’t change it. They’ll have to accept her.”
“My dad.” I clear my throat. “He has a heart condition. He’s had four open heart surgeries. His cardiologist wants us to keep his stress as low as possible. He’s conservative as fuck, and this is going to set him off.”
“You have to tell him sometime.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ears and studies me. “What does Noelle say?”
“Psh.” I stare blankly at the mess of playing cards scattered across her coffee table. What I wouldn’t give to relive the past hour again and again. Nothing mattered then. Life was weightless. “Noelle says a lot of things.”
Calypso laughs. “I kinda love that about her.”
I smirk and shake my head. I can count the number of women I’ve known who’ve actually liked Noelle on one hand. She’s an acquired taste.
“You’re going to have to figure this out,” she says. “When are they coming over?”
“Probably noon tomorrow.”
“I’m going into the shop for a couple of hours in the morning.” Calypso crosses her legs and the hem of her t-shirt pulls up, exposing the soft flesh of her thigh. “I can watch her while your parents are here. That should buy you some time to figure this out.”
My gaze darts to hers. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
Calypso slinks a shoulder to her ear. “It’s not a huge deal. Emme’s a sweet baby. I’m happy to help. You can’t do this alone.”
I rise, pulling my shirt over my shoulders and adjusting the collar. A second later, she walks me to the door.
“Yeah,” I say. The weight in the pit of my stomach shames me for taking advantage of her kindness. She shouldn’t have to rescue me. And it’s not that I don’t have the balls to come clean to my parents, it’s that I don’t have the heart to break the news to my father in his fragile state. The timing couldn’t possibly be worse. “I’ll bring her by around eleven.”
I take it upon myself to steal one last kiss from those heart-shaped lips of hers.
She pulls away, her blue gaze averted. “Let’s not make this complicated, okay?”
“It’s just a kiss.”
Calypso pulls her lower lip between her teeth and lets it go, shaking her head.
“Goodnight, Crew.”
18
Calypso
I’ve walked by this playground dozens of times, and never once did I realize that giant painted lion with its mouth open wide is a drinking fountain.
A handful of small children burn off their Saturday morning energy playing Follow the Leader across the monkey bars, down the twisty slide, and around the Merry-Go-Round.
Emme kicks her legs, sprawled on a blanket under the shade of a squatted palm tree with robust leaves. The parking lot to our little complex is just a few yards away. I brush the back of my hand against Emme’s chubby cheek as she babbles, but our tender moment is interrupted by the fast-paced squawking of a nagging woman climbing out of the driver’s seat of a white Escalade.
“Conrad, I told you.” Her hands slice through the air as she speaks, emphasizing each and every word that leaves her thin, red lips. It’s March, in Vegas, and she’s wearing a thick twin-set sweater. Huge pearls fit for Wilma Flintstone line her neck, and her dark hair is cut to a blunt edge at her shoulders, shining in the late morning sun. The click-clacking of her modest kitten heel against the pavement echoes toward the park. “Let me help you. You’re doing too much. You’re going to overexert yourself. I don’t want to interrupt Dr. Parks in the middle of his golf game all because you’re too stubborn to listen to him.”
“Susan.” The man barks back, but his bark has no bite. She doesn’t listen. She keeps yammering on.
“This is going to be Thanksgiving all over again.” The woman throws her hands in the air as she hurries to his side.
“I’m not helpless.” He jerks his arm from her grasp. “I can walk.”
Nothing like cheap entertainment on a lazy Saturday morning.
“It’s just like you to be pigheaded. You have one good doctor’s visit and you think you’re Superman.” Her sandy tone grates on the man’s nerves. I can see it from way over here. He flinches when she speaks. “Now straighten your shirt. And come along. We haven’t seen Crew since Christmas. This should be a joyous occasion.”
Mr. and Mrs. Forrester.
Nice to meet you.
How those two produced Crew, I’ll never know.
Crew’s dad clears his throat, running his meaty fingers along his Tom Selleck-y mustache as he takes leisurely steps behind his lovely wife. He keeps back a few paces. I assume it’s intentional.
I scoop the baby in my arms and speak softly into her little ear. “Emme, I believe those are your grandparents.”
I almost apologize to her before realizing it’s not my place. It’s not my business. I’m a third party to all of this.
Judging by the way his mother henpecks his father, I can understand Crew’s reluctance to spring Emme on them just yet. Even from the other side of the parking lot I can see she’s tight-laced and buttoned up. She certainly didn’t get those deep frown lines from smiling too much.
My phone buzzes just as Crew’s parents disappear behind his door. I switch Emme to my left arm and flip it over to see Presley’s name flash across the screen.
“What’s up? Everything okay at the store?” I answer.
“So this guy was just here,” she says. “Asking about you.”
My heart lurches into my throat before free-falling so fast it hurts.
“What?” I gulp the dry, Nevada air and rise with Emme on my hip. “What did he look like?”
“Blond,” she says. “Tall. Shaggy hair. Kinda hung in his eyes. Really tan. His eyes were almost clear. Bright white smile.”
My thoughts scatter. She needs to say nothing more.
It’s Mathias.
No doubt in my mind.
“He was asking a ton of questions about you,” she says. “How long you’d owned the store. When you were going to be back. How you were doing.”
I scoop the blanket from the ground and fling it over my free shoulder. It’s time to go inside anyway. The sun is beating down on us as we approach the noon-hour.
“What did you tell him?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “I didn’t know who the hell this guy was. Is he from Shiloh Springs?”
“Yeah.” I buckle Emme in her stroller and scan the park. Can’t help feeling like I’m being watched.
I came to Vegas to get away from Shiloh Springs and the Shilohs and all that they entailed. I felt safe here despite the fact that I stuck out like a vegan at a meat packing plant.
“He wanted to know when you were going to be in,” Presley says. “I told him I wasn’t sure. But he didn’t believe me. He waited around an hour, just browsing the bookshelves but not touching a single book.”
