KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (11 page)

I panted, my climax stalled. I wanted him to fuck this ache inside me so badly. I wanted him to push through the years of strife and take it. Smash it away. And while he was at it, find my fears and make each one submit.

Take all of me. Even the ugly parts that don’t deserve you.

We both shivered, and he pulled me up on my knees with a hand on my shoulder. I leaned back against his chest, and his hand came around the front of my body and held onto me between my neck and clavicle. My face fell to the side where his head was.

I was drugged.

I wasn’t thinking clearly. Endorphins flooded me even though I hadn’t even come.

“Do you feel that, Nora?” I felt his voice spread through my chest.

Yes, I feel all of it.

He ran his palm up my neck to under my chin, and I gladly tipped my eyes to the sight above me. His face was upside down, and my back bent even more to allow me a view of him behind me.

“Do you feel how it’s still
all
the same? And how each new time it’s more.” He pushed against me but gained no ground already buried like he was. I felt fragile and strong, beautiful and, then again, it was like he was looking my ugliness in the eyes. There was nothing left of me to give
or
hold back.

“I trusted you,” I professed in earnest.

Those were the passwords. He let go of my neck, and I fell forward catching my body with my hands on top of the mattress. His fingers burrowed into my hips, and he started a pace that almost leaned to one side for a few measures before he switched angles. He fucked me all the way to paradise.

One of my hands went to his on my hip, and I laced my fingers with his, then he pulled away.

“No,” he objected. “You don’t want that. We’re both getting what we want this time. I get this, and you don’t have to care back. Compromise.”

I would have rather been battered, it would have hurt less. Wounded, I struck back.

“You don’t always know everything.”

“And you don’t know when to shut your mouth,” he replied quickly like he’d predicted what I’d said. His movements slowed. “So help me God, if you argue with me
right
now, then I’m done.”

So fast we moved from compromise to ultimatum.

Oh, Hyde
.

That was my problem. Sometimes I couldn’t stand Hyde, but I couldn’t bear to hurt Jekyll. What did that leave for me?

Couldn’t we even fuck without fighting?

I looked behind myself, our sex familiarly paused to argue. I didn’t want that. Not for tonight.

He told me once to be direct. Well, he’d get straight as an arrow, and I hope it hit him hard. “It hurts that you won’t hold my hand.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Hurts?” he asked.

“Yes, Reagan. It hurts. It hurts my pride because I thought I was worth more than that. More than this.”

He pulled out of me. Coincidentally, I felt dirtier
not
fucking.

His hands flew into the air as I rolled over.

“Woman, what do you want from me?”

My hands pawed at the blanket to pull it over myself. “I fucking told you earlier. I don’t want a damn thing from you.”

I’m too ungrateful for the things you’ve already given me, what would I do with more?

He’d always been a brooding sort of man, but he’d always been kind. Did he not know how much I suffered, too?

He was turned away leaning against the wall. The muscles rippled through his back with every ragged breath.

I didn’t know if it was the emotional cocktail having sex with him shot through my veins or the typical burst of adrenaline from a fight with him, but I braced myself for war.

“Then why did you show up, Nora? Tell me. What did
you
want to get out of this?”

How could he ask me that question? There were many ways I benefitted just by being in the same room as him, but where did he get off asking me a question like that?

It was too deep. Too far inside to wind out.

Furthermore, he’d never answer it himself.
The prick.

I fired back. “What do you get out of letting me in? Answering your phone? Replying? You can’t stop either.”

He pulled at his hair and spun around. “You don’t get it, do you? You never fucking get it. I don’t want it to stop! Fuck!”

He was still naked. As was I, but he was less a blanket. That didn’t seem like a fair fight, and I always rooted for the underdog. His nakedness was an advantage.

“Put on a fucking robe if you’re going to fight with me instead of fucking me. I’m not going to argue while your dick is out. It’s still wet.” I crawled further up the bed and leaned against the headboard.

In search of the hotel robe, he stalked off to the bathroom looking so much larger because he was worked up. Maybe he only appeared bigger since I felt so small.

It was sexy how he wore the robe—but also his signature intensity—and it was absolutely him, as he marched out of the bathroom, tying the terrycloth belt in the front. His skin a beautiful olive, never fading, natural tan and his hair freshly cut, even though they never even tried to tame the thick, black top that much. If possible, his cowlicks were more stubborn than he was.

True to our history, our fires raged as fast as they turned to dust, and my temper quieted.

He sat at the end of the bed, but the same old expansive space and distance remained between us. Nothing ever changed.

Many flavors of disappointment lingered on my tongue.

I hated how the moment had been spoiled—it had been among many other good ones that ended the same way. I’d been harsh with him. He’d been rude with me. But what happens in a lover’s quarrel when you have no arms left to swing with? No legs left to stand on?

You fall.

I’d fallen. Truthfully, it had been a while since I was up.

It was manic being in a relationship with him.
In?
That didn’t feel like the right word. Around? Near? Within reach? Even that was optimistic.

I wanted to go back to those days when it didn’t seem so far-fetched. When he still had a plan and still looked for ways we
could
work, before all we had was two calendar’s worth of regrets. Twenty-four months of failure.

We sat there for a long time not saying anything. It felt foreign, but still like home because I was with him.

Reggie—Saturday, February 16, 2008

I
could have gone home. I
should
have gone home. That was the most expensive cab ride of my entire fucking life. It was a bold move, admittedly, but I was daring her to feel what I had. Daring her to give a sign, something—anything—that what I was feeling wasn’t just anxiety.

I thought that she’d probably been staying at the Harbor, so I sat in a place where I could watch the elevators in the reflection on the glass windows at the front of the building.

It didn’t take long before I saw her, and the time let me mull things over.

She was there with two people?

I could compete with another man, but a couple? I’d never experienced a situation like that. Not that I was at all confident I had a chance, but I craved more of her.

Sitting there gave me the luxury of organizing my thoughts. It was merely by chance that she walked by. Good chances, but still.

Of course, I couldn’t
just
share a cab.

No.

I had to control it. I paid the extra for time. In the end, I’d only made myself look more eccentric than I had at the party.

There wasn’t anything I could do about that, though. What was done was done.

She had my business card. Maybe she’d contact me if she moved to the city, but the chances didn’t look very good.

She’d been pretty pissed. I had felt the tension roll off of her, the deliberate contention she hurled with her eyes.

For weeks, she never completely left my mind. Always there, sitting quietly in the back.

Things progressed with my new condo, and I was moved in quickly. I didn’t have a lot of things, and one of the perks of living in a city where everything is right at your fingertips: whatever I didn’t have, I swiftly purchased and had delivered.

Since I was under contract before the unit was ready, I had the luxury of upgrading last minute finishes, fixtures, and appliances to suit my personal tastes.

Weeks went by, and I didn’t hear anything from her, which wasn’t a surprise.

Wonder if she got the job?

I spent a lot of time in the building’s new gym. There was a pool, a sauna, and state of the art equipment. Moving and work hadn’t left me with much spare time, but what extra I had was spent there. I’d never been a vain man, but I could see changes happening the more time I invested. Like with work, results motivated me.

Dating stalled with the move, so I focused on getting settled, and I took advantage of the facilities while the building was still mostly empty. The larger units, ones like mine, had been sold. Mostly to people who only spent time in Chicago on a part-time basis. Many of the other condos were being leased, but the building wasn’t cheap, and the board was selective.

As luck would have it, there was one thing that made the decision to volunteer on the board exponentially worth it. While the person who was in charge of the lease applications was out of the country, I was receiving the forwarded email and sending appropriate potential applications through to the next person after a thorough vetting.

It didn’t take much time. An hour or so in the evening, and it got me a considerable discount on my yearly fees. Most prospects were filtered through a real-estate agency, but others applied directly with the Lunar.

So and so, lawyer. Shoot off a few emails to check references.

So and so, popular restaurant owner. Friends with George Woods, property owner. Forward directly on.

So and so, reporter for Sun Times. Knows everyone.

So and so, hotel event coordinator. Same first name as the mysterious woman who’d been dancing through my mind almost hourly for months.

I went to the wet bar in my home office, poured myself two fingers of Jameson and opened up a wonderfully coincidental email.

From:
Nora V. Koehl

Subject:
Application for Residency

Date:
May 9, 2008 19:06 CDT

To:
[email protected]

4 attachments