DEBT (27 page)

"I'm not being insecure, I'm being..."

"Don't say prudent. For fuck's sake, anything but that."

I pursed my lips for a second, trying to hold back a smile. "Fine. I'm being
sensible
."

"You're a pain in the ass," he said, shaking his head at me, but he was smiling. "But I guess you're my pain in the ass so I shouldn't complain," he added unexpectedly as he lowered himself into the car.

Meanwhile I was a bit too dumbstruck to move.

His.

Granted, he'd called me his
pain in the ass
, but the possessive term was what mattered. I was his.

I had a sneaking suspicion that, no matter what transpired between us, I would always be his.

"Babe, you coming or what? I can make a lot of shit happen, but I don't think I can make them hold the fucking plane for us."

"Plane?" I asked, turning and ducking to look into the car, my stomach twisting into Boy Scout-worthy knots.

"Yeah, babe. Plane. Gets us to Florida in just over two hours instead of sixteen."

"Um, yeah," I started, shaking my head. It hadn't occurred to me that he'd have a business meeting so far away. I figured it was in the city or something and he thought he'd make a weekend out of it.

"Prue..." he said, likely reading the panic on my face.

"Yeah, I think maybe you should do this trip alone. I'll stay in the house. You don't have to worry about me. I won't try to escape or anything," I said, giving him a smile but it came off wobbly in my disappointment. I really wanted to go, but if he thought my issue with the catwalk at Mandy's was a bit crazy, then he had no idea how I felt about planes. Just the idea was making my throat constrict and a flush break out across every inch of skin.

"I'm not worrying about you
escaping
, Prue. For fuck's sake, you aren't a prisoner."

"I'm pretty sure the arrangement..."

"Fuck the arrangement. That shit flew out of the window the first time I got inside you. You could leave any time you want. I'm not your fucking warden."

I swallowed hard against the knowledge of how much I realized I didn't want to leave. Even if staying meant I still fetched coffee and took orders like an employee. I didn't want to go back to my empty apartment, my empty life.

"Byron... me and heights..." I said, changing the subject.

Byron nodded, swinging his door open and climbing back out. Before I had even fully straightened, he was around the car and right in front of me. "Babe, do you have any idea how safe planes are? Safer than cars by a fuckuva long shot." I opened my mouth to agree that I realized that, but it in no way lessened my irrational fear of them when his hand moved out and rested on my jaw. "I'll be right there. Just like I was right there on the catwalk. Besides," he added, giving me a devilish little smirk. "For what they rape me for the price of first-class tickets, they can put up with you having a freak out."

"You don't und..."

"I do," he cut me off. "I understand. I'm just here to say it's important to push past that. You can't let fear rule every decision in your life. You're afraid to spend money on yourself because you might need it for your father. You're afraid of making a mess because you might have to clean it up after. You're afraid of heights because you might fall. You're so afraid of life that you're barely fucking living it, babe. So what if you feel sick and dizzy and scared? It's two hours of your life. That's it. Then it's over and you're on a beautiful beach and getting a tan. And I'll be right there holding your hand or refilling your glass until you're so fucking bombed that you can't think straight enough to remember how to be scared. Come on. Trust me, getting over this fear will be worth a couple hours of feeling shitty."

I paused, taking a deep breath. Because he was right. Everything he said made sense. It was my default setting to shrink away from things that made me uncomfortable, even if they promised fun, exciting, life-changing things on the other side of the discomfort.

"Prue..."

"Okay," I said, before I could talk myself out of it. "Okay, let's go," I rushed, quickly ducking into the car. I knew if we could get to the airport that there was no going back. I wouldn't feel comfortable throwing a fit or making Byron turn back around and, possibly, miss his appointment. So the sooner we got there, the better.

"Okay," he said, getting into the car and pulling out quickly, as if sensing the urgency for us to get going. Ten minutes into the drive, his hand landed on my thigh, offering an anchor, and it did more to settle my nerves than any words he could have said.

By the time we got to the airport, checking the bags and getting through security took enough of my focus to momentarily stop freaking about the flight. But as we boarded the plane, me taking the window seat, and Byron the aisle, I was pretty much just... shaking. Almost violently. Byron reached past me and slammed the shade down on the window and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, squeezing and half turning me into him.

"Breathe," he reminded me and I pulled in a shaky breath. "Drink?" he asked and I shook my head. My stomach was wobbling too much to tolerate alcohol. "Think you'll be sick?" he asked and I could practically feel him scoping out the air sickness bags.

"I don't think so."

"What do you need?"

"For this to be over," I said, snorting a little as I attempted a laugh. My insides felt like they were vibrating, the contents of my belly sloshing around ominously. I half-listened to the spiel about safety and was vaguely aware of the plane accelerating for take-off. But then we were ascending and all I felt was the dropping sensation in my belly. And, doing just as my father used to advice me
not
to do on the carnival rides he took me on as a kid, I squeezed my eyes tight, stopped breathing, and waited for it to be over.

"Babe, we're up," he said what seemed like too-short a time later.

"Up?" I repeated, the settled feeling in my stomach agreeing with him. We certainly weren't climbing anymore. I pulled slightly back and sucked in a deep breath, looking around. I was vaguely aware of motion, as one is vaguely aware of motion in any vehicle. But it wasn't anything different or worse.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" the flight attendant asked, her voice a little cautious, like she wasn't sure she should interrupt so soon after my freak-out.

"Scotch," Byron answered immediately for himself, then looked at me. "Figure this isn't a glass of wine situation."

"Jack and Coke," I agreed and the flight attendant shuffled off to get our drinks.

"Jack and Coke?" Byron repeated, brow raised.

"It was the first drink I ever had when I was eighteen."

"Party?"

"No. I didn't really do parties. High school graduation."

"Mack's drink?"

"Yeah."

I had four Jacks and Cokes. Byron had two scotches. And then we were descending. While my stomach did the in-my-throat thing and my hand practically crushed the bones in Byron's... he was right. It was over. I had gotten through it. It sucked. I didn't like it. But I was fine. We were on land again and, after we picked up our bags, I would be on my way to a beach.

While I hadn't been expecting to stay at some random hotel chain, I hadn't exactly anticipated the giant, sprawling resort we pulled up to half an hour later. "What?" Byron asked as I stood beside the car and looked at the immense white building sitting on its own private stretch of beach.

"We come from such different worlds," I said, shaking my head.

"Not really. I was poorer than you growing up, babe. You get used to this," he said, gesturing toward the hotel as the staff removed our luggage from the rental car, "but I don't think you ever fully shake that feeling you're having right now. Sure as fuck hope I never do. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?" he asked, putting a hand at my lower back and leading me into the lobby. It was, as one might expect of a beach front luxury hotel, very white and blue color-scheme-wise. It very carefully toed the line between beachy and nautically cheesy.

Our suite was much the same. There was a giant bed covered in white, white walls, white sheers on the windows that opened to a large balcony, and just a hint of blue in the accents around the room.

"I think this is bigger than my apartment back home," I laughed, shaking my head at the ostentatiousness of it all. I turned when I didn't hear a response to find Byron shooting off a text on his phone.

"Alright. I have my first meeting in about two hours. So go run your ass down to the gift shop and pick out a bathing suit," he demanded, still not looking up at me. "Charge it to the room. If I find out you paid out of pocket, babe, there will be consequences."

"Consequences?" I repeated, smiling a little at the idea.

"Might not have had a lot of room in my bag for fun stuff. But I sure as fuck had room for a couple belts. And this time, babe, they won't be used for tying your hands up. And I'm pretty sure sand, salt water, and chlorine wouldn't feel so great on a sore ass." He looked up when he said the last part, eyes twinkling enough to take the sting out of the words.

"Maybe I don't want to get a bathing suit," I teased, trying to hold back the smile I felt.

"Babe..."

"I mean I can think of worse things than a sore..."

The rest of my sentence got cut off when his hand reached out, snagging the waistband of my pants, and dragging me the two feet toward him. My whole weight crashed up against him and I had to put my hands on his chest to brace myself. His hand, however, did not release me; it stayed at the front of my pants for a long minute before plunging inside and finding my heat, raking over it, claiming it, drawing an unexpected moan from me. "Fucking wet just at the thought of me using my belt on you. You know how fucking hot that is?" he asked, moving his finger upward and circling over my clit. He worked me fast and unrelenting until I was clinging to him to keep my feet, my sex clenched tight. But then I suddenly lost his fingers; his hand left my pants and panties. "Now go get a suit. If you're quick, I can fuck you before my meeting."

With that, I was pushed toward the door and I numbly led myself toward the elevators and went to the ground floor with my sex pulsating with unfulfilled need. I was barely aware of the suit I picked at first, but as I paid, I decided it was a fair compromise. It was the one-piece I wanted in black, but it had a fancy mesh cutout on each side from the hip to the underside of the bust. It was as close to a two-piece as I was going to get.

"Alright, let's see it," Byron said when I walked in the door. I moved inward to find him lounging on the bed shoes and jacket off. He was putting the phone on the nightstand and as soon as I came into view, his gaze was on me. I moved to reach into the bag and he shook his head. "Nope. Put it on."

"Byron..."

"Fuck off," he laughed. "I've seen you naked in every fucking position. No way are you pulling that shy shit back up. Put it on. Let me see." I grimaced at him which only made him smile wider, then went into the bathroom to slip into it. "Burning daylight," Byron called and I smiled at my reflection. I guess it really said something that, even when he was bossy or grumpy, or downright surly, I still found a reason to smile because I got to be around him.

"Keep your panties on," I called back as I turned to the door and opened it.

As soon as I came into view, he sat up, moving to sit off the edge of the bed. "Good for you," he said, eying me slowly before settling on my face.

"Good for me?"

"I half-expected you to go with the bikini."

"Why?"

"Because it was what I wanted."

"I'm really not that big of a doormat, Byron," I said, knowing there had certainly been many times in my life where that could have been said about me. I had always excused it as family obligation, as looking out for someone who obviously wasn't capable of looking out for themselves. But in my relationships especially, I had always taken more of a lead role, often being the one to end things when I felt they were going south, cutting ties when it was time, saving all the useless arguments, the resentment, the anger. I certainly never just... wore what boyfriends told me to wear.

"I didn't say you were a doormat," he said, shaking his head. "That wasn't even my line of thinking."

"Then why would I buy the suit you wanted?"

"To save us an argument. Look how far that's gotten us," he smiled. He motioned me forward and stood suddenly, twisting, grabbing me at my hips, and tossing me on the bed. I landed with a quiet oomph followed by a laugh as I moved to push myself up onto my knees. "Know one perk to a one-piece bathing suit?" he asked and I felt my belly flip at the devil I saw in his eye.

"What's that?"

He moved to the edge of the bed and reached out, rubbing my shoulders slightly. Then his fingers snagged the straps and in one swift motion, I was completely bare to him. His hands reached out, massaging my breasts, working the peaks into painful nubs. "Easy access," he said unnecessarily. "I don't have time for the belt right now, babe. But we'll get to that over the weekend. Right now, why don't you be a good girl and ride me?" he suggested, dropping my breasts and moving to sit down on the bed, unfastening his pants and dragging his cock out. I moved off the side of the bed to get out of the swimsuit, stumbling twice as I watched him stroke his already hard cock, making it stand even more erect.