Thrive (3 page)

She wanted an animal and I damn well made sure she got one. I knew the aggression – the fire that burned deep and would continue to smoulder until it could be released. That feeling, being in that place between the sanctuary of pleasure and the hell of guilt for believing you deserved it, was where I lived my life. But not Skye. She deserved all the pleasure in the world; moans as demanding and hungry as hers, a body so responsive, yet defiant enough to keep you searching for new ways to make her succumb; eyes that lit up like a burning autumn sunset and begged you to earn their veneration…
she
deserved it all; every ounce of pleasure left in the world should have been hers. I was going to make sure she got it…and I was going to make sure I was the one who gave it to her.

~Curtis~

I hurt. All over. Every muscle in my body protested as I opened my eyes, consciousness finding me in the same position I’d fallen asleep in. I had no idea what happened; Curtis fucked me with the aggression of a man possessed, and I couldn’t distinguish one orgasm from another. I couldn’t remember when it had begun and when it ended. All I remembered was losing total control of my body, giving it to Curtis and succumbing to the fate that awaited it. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t tender; it was hard and fast and rough, and I only realised my body had been pushed to its limits when he climbed off me and slipped into the bathroom. I fell asleep to the roaring sound of Curtis finding his own release, and the tight ache in my body that confused me beyond comprehension.

The sun was beginning to rise outside, over the hills of Hampshire, framed by the small window of the hotel room. It was still dark, the sky an ominous grey as the sun of a new day fought its way through the darkness. I raised one heavy arm to search for my watch, but it was gone, ripped from my wrist and thrown away during the consensual assault on my body. I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t have my bunny. I couldn’t do what I’d done every morning for the last two years and watch the sunrise whilst talking to Thomas and knowing he was watching over me. I hoped, at that moment, he wasn’t. I’d never felt so ashamed; not only for sleeping with another man, but for wanting to do it again. Through the confusion, the conflict and the uncertainty, I’d never felt so alive. So screwed up, but alive.

I managed to will my body to rise, leaned up on my forearms and gasped when I saw Curtis sitting on the chair in the corner, rolling a plastic bottle of water between his palms and watching me with an unreadable, guarded expression.

“What time is it?” I asked, kicking myself for asking such a pointless question when I had a hundred others swimming around my head.

“Five.”

“Did you sleep?”

Another pointless question.

He shook his head and nodded towards the bedside cabinet. “Water.”

One trembling hand reached out and clasped the bottle, the plastic crackling in my hold as the after effects still shook my nerves. I drank as much as I could.

“What happened to you?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

Finally a question that would initiate conversation; a question that would ease the chaos in my mind. But Curtis didn’t answer; he shifted in the chair and rested one ankle on his knee.

“A lot,” he finally responded. His voice was dry, despite the empty bottle in his hands. “More than I can tell you, Skye.”

“You’ve got to tell me something.” I sat up straight and tried to get out of bed, but Curtis raised one hand to halt me. He stood, approached the bed with heavy steps and sat on the edge. “Please, tell me something.”

“I’m not lying. Your father is my uncle.”

“I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you.”

A thick, cold silence hung over us. I didn’t want to think of my father, but I couldn’t not. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know how to react to the knowledge that my father, the man who had raised me until he’d had enough, had also had a hand in Curtis’ upbringing. I couldn’t begin to think about the laws we might have been broken by sleeping together. It wasn’t illegal, was it? We hadn’t broken the law, had we?

Curtis offered no further information and I knew he wouldn’t; not while he was closed off and appeared to lack all human emotion. I knew I had to break through his walls; it was the only way I would get any truth from him.

“I never blamed him,” I confessed, digging deep for the confidence to have the conversation I’d never had. Not even with Thomas. “Not once. I thought it was my mother’s fault and I’ve hated her for years. I thought he left because she was a drunk. She just switched off and I thought that’s why Dad left us. I thought he was ashamed to have us as his children.” I felt my lip trembling, but Curtis offered no warmth. He gave no comfort, although I knew he was listening. I continued, desperate for
something
from him. “Maybe he was, maybe Mum did push him away. Maybe it was her fault he went searching for your aunt.”

“There’s no point having the chicken and the egg argument,” he uttered, not looking at me, but lifting his hand to rest it on my leg.

It was some comfort and I took it, confused by his response.

“What does that mean?”

He sighed, his fingers flexing against my leg. The butterflies moved into my stomach, a frenzy of uncertainty.

“What comes first? The chicken or the egg? The drink or the bigamy?” he dragged his other hand through his hair, settling it on the back of his neck. “He was married to Lois before you were born.”

“Lois?” I asked, stumped. “Your aunt’s name is Lois?”

He nodded, offering no words.

“Curtis,” I sat up, my body suddenly alert with a fraction of fight. “He has another wife.”

He dropped his head and covered his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, one leg bobbing up and down as he kept whatever emotion that was fighting to burst out contained.

“Who is she?” he asked, his voice muffled and full of hurt. Then he shot to his feet before I could answer and turned his back on me.

He moved to his bag in the corner and rummaged through it, tossing a pair of sweats and new t-shirt on the bed. I watched him cross the room, the tension that had marginally eased last night returning in full force. He entered the bathroom and moments later I heard the shower running. He returned to the bedroom, still refusing to look at me and rested his hand on the door handle.

“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Take a shower.”

I sat up and climbed warily out of bed. “Will you join me?”

I waited as he bowed his head and banged it on the door. I was naked, embarrassed, but willing him to look at my body, to find the connection we’d once had that had disappeared over the years and been replaced by a strange chemistry that was neither passionate nor extinguished. It was dangerously electric. I lifted my hands to my hips, knowing it had always had an effect on him, but he refused to look at me.

“No.”

He opened the door, left the room and took the warmth with him, leaving me with nothing but the humiliation and rejection I should have expected from him.

I stepped into the shower, the water burning my sensitive skin as it pounded against the marks left after last night. There were small thumbprints on my hips from where Curtis had squeezed me and pulled my body onto his, reaching depths that made me come around him and beg for more. As I squeezed shower gel onto my hands and lathered it over my body, the Curtis-scented steam enveloped me and the warmth returned. The wild heat that left me feeling empty without his touch. Last night I wanted angry, to release my frustration without thinking, and I got it. I could think of nothing else with Curtis dominating every one of my senses. Today I wanted gentle, loving, healing. I felt raw, like every amount of pain I’d ever felt was on display for all to see. I wanted to be taken care of. I wanted to be told everything would be okay. I wanted to be told I was brave, that I could do this – whatever
this
was. I knew I wouldn’t get it from Curtis. He had me shut out, and I couldn’t see a way in. He was keeping me here out of duty, because he blamed himself; his own guilt told him he owed me answers. Answers he didn’t have.

I didn’t want his pity. I didn’t want to be trapped on his guilt ride and treated like the little child who needed shielding from the truth. Screw that. I could fight my own battles, I didn’t need Curtis holding me captive, physically close, but emotionally shut off.

Fuck that.

I turned the water off and, once again, tried to detach myself from the situation; to shut off the feeling that I
was
lost, and alone and afraid. I rubbed myself dry as quickly as I could, pulled on the clothes Curtis set out for me and left the bathroom. He was still gone, out torturing himself no doubt, refusing to let in the one person who could understand his torment. I pulled on my shoes, refusing to care about how I looked, shoved my dress under my arm, located my watch under the bed and swung the hotel room door open.

The hallway was quiet and lit only by the strip lights on the ceiling, the rest of the guests on the ground floor still sleeping. I tiptoed along the carpet towards the exit. Turning the corner, nearing the reception where I could make my escape, I collided with a wall of concrete. The chest of Curtis. I stumbled back and felt my cheeks flush because I’d been caught.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and I looked up to see him carrying a cup holder and paper bag from Starbucks.

“You left,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “So I left.”

“I went to get you coffee and breakfast.” His voice was softer, his face still passive, but there was a renewed energy in his eyes.

“Thanks, but I have to go.”

“Skye, don’t start this again.”

“Why?” I took a step away from him. “Because you can't fuck me into silence in a hallway?”

“I’ll fuck you wherever the hell I want.”

Another step back. “You can't speak to me like that.”

He sighed. His fingers twitched against the bag and I felt a smile ghost the corner of my mouth – he wanted to tug on his hair and he couldn’t. He knew he’d crossed a line and I finally saw some emotion on his face. Worry. I wouldn’t tell him that my mouth said one thing, but inside, sparks flew.

“Go back to the room.”

“Fine.” I huffed, turning back in the direction I came from. “But only because I want coffee and food.”

Curtis followed closely behind me; I could hear his heavy footsteps and feel the relief emanating from him.

“Were you really going to run away dressed like that?” he asked, an easy humour in his voice. It relaxed me.

“I don’t do humour until there’s coffee in my veins.”

He chuckled quietly and we stopped at the door of his room. He cleared his throat which caught my attention and I turned to look at him. His eyebrows rose and an expectant look, glowing with playfulness, moved in.

“What?”

“Key.” A crooked smile flashed my way. He was sexy when he was playful. “Pocket.”

I swallowed hard and squeezed my hands together before reaching for the cup holder. He raised both his hands above his head, our breakfast out of my reach.

“It’s okay.” He winked. “The serpent is sleeping.”

I snorted a laugh and shook my head, “I guess he’s worn out after last night.”

I dropped my gaze, recognising a new, more desperate ache between my legs joining the reminder of last night.

“He’s well trained,” Curtis said and I smiled at his response. I couldn’t help it. Our eyes locked and that connection I thought was no more crackled between us. “The coffee is getting cold.”

I stepped forward and slipped my hand into the pocket of his pants. I grabbed the keys, the backs of my fingers catching him unexpectedly. Even soft, he was impressive, virile, designed to please women, and my heart skipped a beat. My body ached for him as I withdrew my hand from his pocket and jingled the keys between us.

“I guess I don’t need to ask how it’s hanging.”

He laughed, a throaty laugh that had my toes curling in my sandals. I smiled as I inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. I felt Curtis’ eyes burning into me as we stepped into the room and he kicked the door shut behind us.

“Take your shoes off,” he ordered, setting our breakfast on the dresser.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you breaking an ankle.”

A protective edge laced his voice and I knew something so simple, something he had no control over, had stolen his thoughts. I had to keep the mood light.

“I’m a woman. Surviving these things is wired into our genes.”

I knew he wanted to smile. I couldn’t see if he did, but I was hopeful.

“Just take them off.” He tore sugar sachets open with his teeth and poured them into our coffees. “Take them off and sit on the bed,”

I did as he asked, slipping out of my heels and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. Curtis was stirring a coffee with a little wooden stick when there was knock on the door. I gasped and my skin prickled. Who knew we were here? Why did I feel like we were on the run? Curtis crossed the room fluidly and opened the door. He accepted a large brown paper bag from the member of hotel staff on the other side. A little early to have them running errands, was it not? He shut the door, placed the bag next to me and collected up our coffee and breakfast. He stopped at the foot of the bed and frowned when he looked at my legs.