“Is that a coincidence?”
My fork slowed on the way to my mouth. “What?”
She nodded toward the centerpiece. “The flowers. Last night, the General SylvanWood costume. And now daffodils.”
I eyed her for a moment before looking away, shrugging. “Ah, don’t know. Guess that’s probably what they had at the florist. And Chef just got those.”
I didn’t look at her as she watched me closely. Maybe she was adding up the hints. And this hint was only for her. No one else. The costume had been a hint for everyone.
She set aside her wineglass and got up to use the bathroom. She asked for her bag and took it with her, which I found unusual, but thought little of it. I got up from the table and figured we could talk in the living room, so I waited for her on the couch, fiddling with my tablet. She took a while but finally came out, dumped her bag by the stairs and walked up to where I sat and stood in front of me.
“So…should I get going?” she asked hesitantly.
I made no move to stand up. “I don’t know. Should you?”
“Well, Scotty’s not going to beam me there…”
I patted the cushion next to me. “Emilia, can we talk, please? Or do you just want us to stay in this…limbo?”
She sank down beside me, but as she did, she wobbled a little, as if she was a little tipsy. She’d only had one full glass of wine and a few sips from the second one. She sighed and rubbed her brow. “Do you think one conversation is going to fix what’s screwed up between us?”
I set my jaw. “I think it’s a start.”
She settled back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling, giving a long sigh. “But where do we even start?”
“Let’s start by saying what we want. I know what
I
want. Do
you
?”
She turned her head and gave me a long look from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, then took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I want.”
“You want to be a doctor,” I supplied, trying to be helpful.
She rolled her head away from me and looked up at the ceiling, blinking. “Yeah…maybe.”
“Emilia, what’s going on? We broke up because you wanted to go to Maryland—now you’re
not
going to Maryland and—”
She frowned, but her voice was still quiet when she spoke. “We broke up because you violated my trust and hired some jackass to stick a tracker on my car. Because you don’t trust me.”
I bit my tongue. It had absolutely nothing to do with not trusting her and everything to do with this constant fear inside.
I reached out and smoothed her cheek. “Can I ask you to move past that? To forgive me?”
Her eyes fluttered closed under my touch and she swallowed. “I’ve already forgiven you. But I still don’t trust you. We’ve got big trust issues, you and I.”
I smoothed her hair. “We’re not perfect. But I think we’re worth fighting for.”
Her eyes closed lazily and opened. “I think your hugs are worth fighting for…” she murmured in a sleepy voice.
“Only my hugs?” I asked, mildly amused.
“It’s a good start.” She leaned in to me, nestling against my chest. My arms wrapped around her almost automatically.
“Mmm,” she said. “Tighter.” And I complied.
So I held her until she dozed off in my arms. I kissed her hair, glancing at the clock. It was just after 9 p.m. and I began to wonder about her weird drowsiness. She’d had a glass of wine, so that might have done it. And—thanks to me—she hadn’t slept much the previous night. But it didn’t add up.
I adjusted her against me and that’s when I noticed two small bruises on her left arm. I held it up, at first thinking that our rough sex from the night before had caused them, but these looked like fresh bruises. I took a closer look and—sure enough I saw puncture marks at the site of the bruises.
I stiffened in shock, remembering that she’d taken her bag into the bathroom with her—and had been in there for a while. When she’d come out, she’d been acting more inebriated than she would have gotten from one glass of wine. My heart raced.
Fuck
.
I stared at her white-blond head that was tucked against my chest and thought about that weird request last night to keep her shirt on—the reluctance to put on the bathing suit. I adjusted her against me and with cold fear creeping down my throat I pulled up the hem of her shirt enough to look at her stomach.
It was covered with older bruises. Some were yellow, indicating they had been there for weeks. Injection sites. I thought about her fixation on Sabrina today—her desire to pry for more about my sister. Emilia was clearly injecting something. Was she an addict? What the hell? When had
this
happened?
With a dark, cold feeling inside my throat, I gently laid her aside so I could stand up. Then I bent and scooped her into my arms. I wouldn’t let her sleep on the couch all alone. I carried her up the stairs to my room. Laying her down gently, I pulled off her shoes, pulled her phone out of her pocket and put it on the nightstand next to mine. She turned over on her side and I put a throw blanket over her. We’d talk this through in the morning.
But before we had that talk, I needed information and I was desperate. I went to her bag and stared at it for a long moment, hesitating before I opened it. If she was using, then she needed help. If I could help her, then I
had
to. I took a deep breath and unzipped the bag, vaguely realizing that she had just mentioned in the previous hour that she had issues trusting me.
And yet here I was again, digging through her bag. My hands shook and I couldn’t get that vision of Bree out of my head…I was that boy again, watching my dying sister teeter on the curb. I knew I’d never see her again as I stared out the bus window. I was powerless, unable to help her no matter how much I begged to.
That wouldn’t happen again, goddamn it. It
wouldn’t
. Not to Emilia. I couldn’t breathe when my hand closed around a plastic container, a portable sharps container. I pulled it from the bag, my jaw dropping in disbelief. It had empty syringes inside.
Fucking fuck. My hand shook as I took the syringes to my office to run a check on Google based on the labeling. Oxycodone—a powerful opioid prescribed as a painkiller but also one of the most commonly abused prescription medications around. That’s how Bree had started—she’d swiped a bottle of painkillers from Christina’s mother’s medicine cabinet. She’d stored those in my stuffed animals, too.
“Special medicine, just for me,” she’d say. “Adam, you don’t touch this, okay? It will make you sick. It’s just for me.”
And then she’d found a way to get more—at the time I’d been too young to realize. She’d refilled that prescription at the drugstore, over and over again, claiming it was for her sick aunt. And when there were no more refills and no more bottles to steal, she’d started hanging out with the rough kids in the neighborhood. She warned me not to come near her when she was with them. She’d flirt and laugh and they’d hand her packets of stuff. She’d hide those, too.
She’d take the pills after Mom hit her. They’d scream and yell at each other and I’d hide in my room and cry—too terrified to go out and defend her—I was little, after all, and she was a teen. But Mom would hit her and she’d come to our room, take the pills and sob into her pillow while I pretended to be asleep.
I buried my head in my hands, trying to dam the pain. Holy shit.
It was happening all over again.
With a steely determination, I returned to her bag and completely ransacked it. There were two more syringes—these prefilled and unused.
The pieces certainly were starting to fit. She’d pulled away because she’d known about my own issues with addiction. She’d fixated on Sabrina’s story because of the similarities to her own. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell me for fear of how I’d react.
Was I angry? Fuck yes, I was. But I was also in problem-solving mode. Hours later, before I lay down beside her, I sent out three different inquiries about rehab by e-mail. In the morning, we’d sit down. We’d figure this out. She’d stay here and I’d convince her that this was the way to go, even if it meant staging that intervention that Alex had jokingly talked about weeks ago.
Did Heath know about this? I determined to talk to him, too. I glanced up at the clock, after eleven. Too late to call. I’d talk to him first thing.
Overcoming this would be hard. Ultimately, it would be
her
fight,
her
struggle. But I would get her the best help possible. I’d support her afterward, too. I’d gone through the twelve steps myself, after I’d realized my work addiction. I’d done the program by myself, but I knew Emilia would need help. And I’d be there for her.
I lay down beside her and gathered her against me, still fully clothed myself, but so exhausted I could hardly think anymore. I drifted off to the sound of her peaceful breathing.
I woke up hours later to the feel of her mouth and hands on my bare chest. Lying on my back, I kept my eyes closed and savored the sensations. It wasn’t just a pleasant dream, thank God. Emilia had unbuttoned my shirt and was kissing me all over. And I was hard as a rock and aching with it.
I didn’t move, curious as to where this was going. I’d wanted her again since the last time. And this was looking promising. One of her hands drifted down over my belly to cup my hard cock. She fondled me through my jeans and I let out an involuntary groan.
She didn’t stop touching me, but her head came up. “Darn. I wanted to give you your own sleepgasm.”
I cracked my eyes open. It was early morning. The sky was still a pale gray and I could just see her in the predawn light. She still looked so alien to me with that pink-and-purple-striped white hair of hers. I resisted the urge to reach over and grab her, pull her on top of me. I wanted inside her so badly I was nearly vibrating with it.
“Don’t mind me,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’ll just pretend I’m sleeping and you can go about your business.” And hopefully that business involved her climbing on top of me and riding me like a cowgirl.
She unbuttoned and carefully unzipped my jeans, tugging on them. “Why’d you fall asleep with your clothes on, silly?”
I lifted up and she pulled the jeans off me. “I can’t answer that. I’m asleep, remember?”
“Oh, yes. It’s too bad you’ll miss this, then.” She reached inside my underwear and pulled out my stiff cock, her hand traveling up it delicately. She pinched the head and I groaned again and in seconds her hand was replaced by her hot, wet mouth.
“Fuck,” I rasped as her lips closed around me. Her tongue caressed the most sensitive parts of my shaft. My eyes squeezed shut and all I could do was feel. I had to resist the urge to grab her head and control her movements. I rarely got a blowjob these days and it was understandable that it wasn’t her favorite thing to do, given her history. Every one was a gift, as I saw it. I’d never expected them from her. In the past a man had forced himself on her that way and just the fact that she volunteered to give me one at all told me a lot about her level of trust.
I swallowed some guilt at that thought.
Trust
. I’d gone through her things last night. I’d found—
It was so hard to think about anything at that moment because her mouth was doing indescribably amazing things to me. She sucked, hard, as she dragged her mouth across my cock. Sliding it in deep—deeper than she’d ever done before. So much so that I half-wondered—in my delirious state—if she might trigger her own gag reflex.
I mustered the willpower to open my eyes and watch her. Her eyes were closed in concentration as she continued, sliding her head up and down. Her movements were regulated, concerted. Her dark brows furrowed and her gorgeous, puffy lips sealed around my shaft. The sight of it almost made me come.
But then her eyes flew open and her gaze locked on mine. I couldn’t look away as her head continued bobbing. Burning pleasure was spreading from my groin into my stomach, down my legs. It felt so fucking good. I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted her to keep sucking me until I came. And I wanted to come in her mouth—something I’d never done before.
I wanted it so badly I was half-tempted not to warn her when I felt that familiar twinge just below my navel. “Emilia,” I gasped. “I’m gonna—” but she didn’t stop and my orgasm was cresting that wave of hot pleasure, convulsing over me. My eyes squeezed closed as I spilled into her mouth.
Fuck, it felt so good, so hot and intense it was almost painful. She didn’t pull her mouth away. And I was still coming. And she was still sucking. Oh. My. God. I thought the strength of it would blow my head wide open.
For minutes I was lost in the sensation of convulsing pleasure, but when I was done and her mouth was still sealed around me, I opened my eyes and watched her. I was certain she’d get off the bed and go to the sink to spit. But instead, her mouth still wrapped around me, I watched her throat bob. She swallowed. Everything.
I closed my eyes and threw my head back, so incredibly turned on that I felt everything starting again. Slowly she pulled her mouth away and she would have gotten off the bed, but I stopped her, hooked my arm around her waist to prevent her from leaving.
“That was so goddamn hot. I need to have you again,” I groaned.
She gasped. “You just did.”
“Again. And again. Because I’ll never get enough,” I groaned. “I need you. Here. With me. Please.”
She stilled. “We should talk,” she said.
I took a deep breath and let it go. She was going to tell me about the drugs. Good. It was better that this came from her…that she be the one to recognize that she had a problem.
She bent to kiss me and then got up to use to the bathroom and I laid back, still enjoying that hot afterglow. I glanced at the clock. It was seven on a Tuesday morning. I closed my eyes and was almost completely asleep when she left the bathroom and crawled back into bed beside me.
Now I had to get up, but one thing was certain—when I came back to bed she was getting an orgasm of her own, one way or the other. With that thought, I got up and showered. Maybe she’d drift off to sleep in the meantime. I spent my time in the shower contemplating the most delicious ways to wake her up. By the time I got out, I had a semi just from all the dirty thoughts going through my head. It was stunning, really, that we could be so distant from each other emotionally and yet so in sync sexually that I couldn’t get the thought of her body out of my mind.