Authors: Ava Claire
I lifted the lid and my mouth watered. Inside
were six multicolored pastries, lined up in a row. They were
sandwich like confections, the sides fluffy and delicate and a
sliver of cream between them.
“Macaroons?” I went to touch them, to
literally stuff my face, but stopped when I touched the lid,
running my fingers over the glittering label. “Ladurée?”
“It’s a Parisian brand,” he answered.
“They’re credited with creating the double macaroon. Still your
favorite, right?”
“They are.” I fondled the tissue paper,
suddenly hesitant to touch them, content to ooh and aah over the
bright color and dreamy textures.
“Not from Paris unfortunately,” he continued.
“I doubt they would have kept for two years. But I did the best I
could.”
I glanced at him, seeing his eyes expectant
and hopeful.
“You did great,” I smiled. I took one out and
bit into it, the slight crunch of the outer shell met by the
creamy, luxe smooth of the filling. I held it in my mouth, savoring
it until I swallowed. “They taste even better than they look.”
I picked up a second box, sliding the top
off. On a bed of cotton was a dark circle of beads meeting a
crimson colored clasp and a turquoise looking stone. I held it up,
marveling at the craftsmanship.
“They’re called wrist malas,” he explained.
“When I was in Tibet I saw these and thought of you. Strong,
unwavering-”
“Stubborn?” I added.
“Beautiful,” he finished. “They’re used for
meditation. Every time I closed my eyes and got to a place where
everything else faded, I saw your face.”
I circled my finger around the beads,
imagining him sprawled on beautiful waist high grass with the sky
ethereally blue. I never would have admitted it out loud but I was
sure that every time he thought of me, every time he saw my face, I
saw his. My eyes burned but I held back the tears, quickly sliding
the beads onto my wrist.
I looked at the pile of knick knacks and
mementos from all over the world, love letters he wrote and never
sent; physical proof that he never stopped loving me. I thought
about nights when I was alone and not even Pandora or TV on full
blast could quiet the ache in my chest. It seemed so far-fetched,
so impossible that every time I thought of him, he could have been
thinking of me too. But the truth was here, personified in every
single gift.
I was consumed, alight with so much emotion
that I was sure my heart would combust from the strain.
"Chance...this is all--"
I pivoted, turning from him. There was
another thing, dark and terrible that swirled among the happy and
tingles. It was guilt. "The first time we kissed when you came
back, the first time we touched--" I fiddled with the red cord
dangling from the bracelet, knowing full well I was about to hang
myself. "I wanted to hurt you. I hated you for a very long time. I
hated you while you were seeing me and gathering these things for
me." I pulled off the mala beads, surprised that removing it felt
like I was losing a piece of myself. Surprised that it hurt right
down to my bones. "This is beautiful, really it is. But it's too
much."
He didn’t say anything for a long moment or
acknowledge my outstretched hand, bracelet in my palm. I dredged my
gaze from safe territory, feeling his eyes burning into me, knowing
that as soon as we locked eyes he’d set me on fire. After all, he’d
done all of this, saved these things for me and I wasn’t accepting
it. If it were reversed, I’d be furious. Hurt. Angry. But when I
looked at him, his smile stretched to his amber eyes.
“I love you, Cassandra. Even if I found some
way to put the universe in the palm of your hand, it wouldn’t be
nearly enough. I’ll never be able to truly show you how much you
mean to me--but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.”
****
My heart raced in my chest as he led me to
the bedroom. Wanting to please him, just wanting
him
, I
pulled off my shirt and shimmied out of my leggings.
Even though I wanted to see the desire, the
love burning in his gaze, I averted my own, kneeling in my bra and
underwear. Becoming the submissive.
"What are you doing?"
I blinked up at him. "I thought this was what
you wanted." I swallowed. "What you needed."
His fingertips were a whisper against my skin
as he helped me back up. “What I want is you. Just as you are.”
I licked my lips, a flutter in my groin as he
followed the path of my tongue with his eyes then traced the curve
with his thumb. The quiver of his touch made my pulse quicken and I
stepped closer, wanting to melt into him. Still, there was a part
of me that wanted to honor his identity.
“But you’re dominant,” I said hesitantly.
He confirmed it by claiming my lips without
another word. I moaned into his mouth and the sound only
intensified his onslaught. His tongue was ravenous, flicking over
every surface. He pulled back after he got his fill, eyes flashing.
Damn if I wouldn’t do anything for him when he looked at me like I
was his sun. His moon.
I cleared my throat and tried to snuff out
the need to unbuckle his jeans, strip him of his shirt and just
feel him. All of him. “If you need me to submit--”
“Tonight, I’m not a Dominant and you’re not
my student,” he said tersely, shedding his clothes with an urgency
that proved he was just as starved for me as I was for him. “I just
want to have my way with you, Cass.” He paused, his beautiful chest
heaving. “Is that alright?”
Delicious tingles raced up and down my body
as I threw my arms around his neck. His response was cupping my
bottom, pulling my body upward. I wrapped my legs around his waist,
clinging to him as a whirlwind of lust spun wild, erotic, and hot
around the two of us.
He reclaimed my mouth with a groan. He kissed
me like it was our last one; kissed me like he was making up for
all the kisses that should have been ours.
I slid back onto his bed, the sheets like
fingers dragging along my fevered skin. I wasn't demure, not
tonight. I spread my legs wide, feeling the cool kiss of air
against the juices gushing from deep inside. His moan reverberated
from the back of his throat, humming from his being and wasted no
time either, lunging onto the bed with passion etched across his
intense features.
I saw the struggle in his gaze, the
simultaneous need to ravage me battling with concern; wanting to
put my needs first. It was terribly sweet, Hallmark card
worthy--but the last thing I was thinking about was cute poems and
cartoon drawings of hearts. I wanted...I wanted...
“Don’t be gentle,” I gave a voice to the lust
raging inside of me, turning me molten. “I don’t want you to be
gentle.”
The side of his mouth curved deliciously.
“Good.”
I spread my legs wide, not even caring about
foreplay, thinking only of the massive bulge he was holding. But I
didn’t felt the veiny length, gasping instead when I felt the warm,
moist touch of his tongue.
He made a hot trail up one side of me then
down the other, the wetness erasing my crazy talk. How could I have
even entertained the idea of not experiencing his mouth?
His tongue dove between my folds, taking me
to the edge before drawing me from the precipice. He swirled around
the sensitive joining of skin, breathlessly close to my bundle of
nerves, then taking measure of me with long, wet strides. When he
finally claimed it, I let out a scream, instinctively clamping a
hand over my mouth. When I remembered we weren’t in his office, not
somewhere hiding was necessary, I dropped it back to the tangled
sheets, letting out a second as he circled the swollen nub. Every
part of me tensed, locking as I brushed my fingertips against the
warmth of climax but he kept pulling me back. Grounding me.
“I want to feel you unravel around me.” His
dark eyes tore into me as he rose up, like some tattooed, muscular
dream. Some wild thing that only existed in fantasy because there
was no way he was mine.
He slid between my thighs, swollen and poised
at my slick entrance. “I want to look at your face when you
come.”
Our eyes locked and I gazed into his hazel
depths. I never left those eyes, needing to memorize every gleam
because as soon as our bodies met, I would be all sensations. I
didn't want to forget this moment. I didn't want to forget how
passion turned his eyes gold. He tilted my chin upward and I
watched the quiver of lust ripple from his gaze, flutter across his
face, and land solidly on his lips. My eyes drifted shut as he
pressed them against mine in a kiss that I felt in my heart. I
wanted nothing more than him. Nothing more than this.
I felt him at my moist opening, his flesh
against mine. His trembling lips parted.
"I love you, Cass."
And he drove inside. Expanding me. Changing
me. I would never get tired of this feeling, this bliss. Never.
We were a sweaty, breathy mess but neither of
us cared much. I turned my head to look at him, smiling at the
exhausted look he wore.
"Better than a run, huh?"
He chuckled, propping his head up and moving
closer. "Infinitely so." He made a slow, methodical circle on my
hip as he gazed at me intently, his expression heavy and
contemplative. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes. And that's why you're
falling on your sword."
"That's why I'll do what you asked," he
corrected. "I'll keep our secret as best I can, until you walk
across that stage.” He smirked. “Just as a warning, I might hump
you in full view of the graduating class of 2013."
I gaped at him, sure the mind-blowing sex had
knocked something loose. "What?"
"I'll lie in my statement," he answered. "And
no, it's not the sex talking." His eyes searched mine until he was
sure that I understood he was serious. "You were right. I'm not
ready to be apart from you, even if leaving is not a sure thing. If
I have to lie in public so I can love and ravage you in private,
I'll do it." He leaned in and kissed my stunned lips. "I'd do
anything for you, Cassandra."
****
I ducked into my apartment with a singular
mission: get a change of clothes and get back to the car where
Chance was waiting. I didn't even bother locking the door, just
shooting to my room with my feet barely touching the ground.
"Cass?"
I froze.
I could pick my mother’s voice out of a
crowd; the slight drawl that became full on South when she talked
to my grandparents on the phone, the disarmingly sweet tone with
something deep and strong resonating underneath.
That strength speared into my US History
teacher my senior year of high school when he decided my last name
was cause to pick apart my assignments mercilessly, with so much
red that my paper looked more like a murder scene than analysis of
world events. He’d probably heard Mom’s voice over the phone and
thought nothing of it, but after she had one meeting with him, he
never looked at me sideways again.
And then there were all of the times she
stood up, spoke up when I was too afraid to. At Dad’s funeral I
couldn't read his favorite poem without shattering. She was there
to pick up the pieces, helping me find my own strength as we said
the lines together.
Even when she hovered, suffocated me with
texts and called like I’d end up in a ditch otherwise, I still
admired her. She had a draw, shining even in Dad’s shadow. She told
me stories of practicing law before they got married, defending
people who had nothing to offer her besides ‘thank you’ and every
casserole dish under the sun as payment.
She always made sure she was heard,
respected; she always made sure the world knew that even though her
name wasn’t Rhyder Woods, she still had something to offer. That
was why her dismissal of my thoughts and opinions hurt so much.
Instead of hearing me out, she held tight to what Chance had done.
She didn’t let me explain that I wasn’t taking his cheating lightly
and when I tried to open up, I was met with animosity and judgment.
Instead of supporting me, she became the people she hated—those
that forgot she was a beast in the courtroom, only seeing a
homemaker, a pretty face to be seen and not heard.
The floor creaked as she took a wary step in
my direction. “The door was unlocked.”
I finished stuffing my underwear in my
overnight bag, holding tight to the hurt as the zipper sliced
closed. “I’m on my way out.”
“Cass we really need to talk--”
“Is that right? Because you’ve been trying to
do anything but since I tried to talk to you about Chance.” I slung
the strap over my shoulder and jerked my charger from the wall.
“You peeled out of the parking lot when you found us here together
and then at dinner, you said nothing while Alicia pretty much spat
in his face.” I sucked in a deep breath and faced her. “He didn’t
deserve that. I didn’t deserve it.”
Her brow furrowed in distaste. “He didn’t
deserve it? Let’s get one thing straight.
You
are my
priority. I could care less what Chance Crawford deserves.”
“Oh I get it.” I pretended like it was all
coming to me, sarcasm on full blast. “When you said you wanted to
talk, what you really meant was you wanted to come here and tell me
how stupid and naive I am.”
“Cassie--”
“I’ve got to go.” I maneuvered past her, my
chest tight. This was too much, falling from cloud nine and
crashing back to earth where I had to explain myself, trying to put
the most beautiful thing in my life into words. And it would be
wasted because she wouldn’t really hear me. She refused to.
“Please,” she implored. “Five minutes.”
The pleading in her voice stopped me cold. It
revealed an exposed wound, throbbing and pulsing. She sounded
vulnerable—I never heard that from my mother. And then she said the
last thing on earth I expected.