Scared of Forever (Scared #2) (16 page)

He leans up abruptly
and cups my face in his hands. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you
want me,” he whispers lowly, searching my eyes, his breath ragged.

“I need you. I’ve
never needed anything as much as I need you now.” My conscience
doesn’t make an appearance. I know that the words I have just said
to Tyler are the whole, complete, and unadulterated truth. He
searches my eyes for confirmation, his own lusty, heavy-lidded eyes
betraying the true depths of his arousal.

I quickly undo his belt
and unzip his pants, our eyes locked together, and take him, solid
and throbbing, into my hands. His eyes close briefly, relishing my
touch. I slide my hands up and down. He drops his chin, eyes still
closed, breathing erratic. My body aches to feel him. A searing,
white hot, yet magnificent pain like I have never known before.

Without warning, he
steps back and gathers the yards of silk that make up my skirt and
bundles it up around my waist. He stops for a brief moment, before he
slides my G-string down. Tyler looks up and meets my eyes, his own
glowing with lust. Each kiss, each touch, each moan. He gives each
small component one hundred percent of his attention.

He grabs my thigh,
hitching my leg around his waist. He kisses me gently and slides into
me, pushing carefully into the warm wetness. He looks at me intently,
his gaze smoldering, penetrative. My body screams, as does my mouth.

“
Ssshhh
,”
he whispers breathlessly, as he slides deeper into me, each slow and
purposeful movement lifting my body higher and higher towards
ecstasy. Tyler fills every inch of me, body and soul. His hand grips
me tightly around the waist, the chains in the back of my dress
digging mercilessly into my back. I don’t feel the pain, just the
pleasure. My fingers grab at his hair, his neck. To stop my screams,
I bite down on my lower lip. Hard. My body writhes against his, waves
of pleasure taking me higher than I’ve ever been before. Tyler
watches me intently, his eyes averting only to kiss my neck,
shoulder, any part of me that he can get his mouth to. I struggle to
stay silent, biting so hard on my lip now that I taste a hint of
metallic blood. The orgasm that rocks my body feels like an
implosion. Losing my battle against silence, forced to scream, Tyler
pushes his lips against mine, using his arm and body to remove any
amount of space left between us. His last thrust into me is deep,
purposeful, gentle yet loaded. He groans loudly against my lips. I
watch his last moment, and enjoy the satisfying end.

Tyler kisses me deeply,
so tenderly that I feel like I could cry. I feel every bit of what he
feels for me in that kiss.
What
he offers me
. Lips fused, we mercilessly expose all of the
feelings that we both are trying desperately to suppress. I know now
why he watched me, why he kept his eyes fixed on me. He wanted to see
the moment clearly, the moment where I came. He waited for it.

By this time, the
champagne has worn off, and the weight of my, our, actions comes down
on me. I stand against the wall, the mixture of emotions swirling
uncomfortably in my gut.

“I’m not going to
say I’m sorry about this, Emily,” Tyler says quietly. “I don’t
regret it. I can’t regret you. I wish I had the willpower to turn
away. At least then it would spare you this moment.”

“What moment?” I
ask, leaning into him, taking in the scent of us.

“The moment where you
realized what has just happened. The moment where you start to feel
guilty. I hoped you wouldn’t. But you’re too good not to.”

He
sums up my feelings perfectly
. “Look,” he says,
turning towards me and running his hand slowly across my cheek. “I
can
tell you I’m
sorry, that I wish this hadn’t happened, and it may make you feel
better. But somehow I don’t think that you want me to lie to you. I
care for you so much. When you process this, remember that. And it
has nothing to do with competing with Blake.”

He’s right, it
didn’t. Nothing about what Tyler and I just shared competed. When
Blake and I had sex, he got lost in it, and after a while it felt
like he forgot that I was even there at all. It was all about his
satisfaction.
His pleasure
.
Tyler mind-fucked me in the best way. The way he grabbed me so
tightly. The way he held my gaze, gauging my every response, my every
reaction. Orchestrating his every movement to ensure that I was
beyond satisfied by it all. A small, deliciously heated shiver
ripples through my body as I remember how he felt inside of me, just
moments ago.

Tyler decides not to
rejoin the party, both of us agreeing that it would be better that
way, seeing as how I am the first one to admit that my poker face
sucks. He kisses me gently on the cheek before leaving.

I try desperately to
fix my hair, uncrease my dress. Remove any telltale signs of my
duplicitous behavior. The one thing that I can’t remove is the
unwanted guilt I feel, leaden in my stomach like a huge, dark stone.

I walk back into the
party. No surprise that Blake is exactly where I left him, working
the room expertly. As I’m walking over, a cold hand grasps my
elbow. I turn quickly to find myself standing face to face with Eliza
Carson. She looks at me curiously then opens her clutch. I’m
tempted to take a cautionary step back, in the event that she’s
reaching for a pistol. Instead, she holds up a small gold tube.
Lipstick
?

“Your hair is a
frightful mess,” she says with not a trace of emotion. “Your
lipstick is smeared very unpleasantly across your face. Your dress
looks like it has been discarded in a heap, and then reapplied. And
one of the silver chains on the back of it has come loose.”

She continues to stare.
I get the distinct impression that she knows exactly why I look like
I’ve just been involved in a vehicular pileup. But as much as I
search, I see no anger, nor judgment in her eyes. I take the lipstick
gratefully.

“The powder room is
that way. Blake has been asking after you. I assured him that I had
seen you socializing with some of the other ladies. I’ll keep him
occupied while you fix this,” she continues, gesturing with a nod
towards Blake.

My eyes follow her as
she walks over to him, purposely steering him in the opposite
direction, cautious to keep his head facing away from me.

Did
Eliza Carson just save me?
I rush back to the restroom.
She’s right
. Blake
would have immediately realized that something was amiss if I had
gone back to him looking like this. I wipe away the lipstick and
reapply the severe red shade that Eliza had given me. I reach back
and yank off the disabled silver chain, and then fix my hair into a
messy bun.
What have I done?
I feel guilty, I feel bad, but I don’t feel wrong.

Minutes later, I rejoin
the Carson’s. “Emily,” Blake says, moving towards me and
placing a possessive arm around my waist. “Did you change your
hair?”

“Blake, how rude,”
Eliza interjects, again saving me from fumbling over my words. “And
I did tell Emily to go to my salon for this event. Her hairdo would
never have come out like this had she listened.”

“She still looks
beautiful,” Blake defends, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. His
lips land on the same spot where Tyler’s were, not all that long
ago. And all I want to do is swat Blake away from it. Eliza shoots me
a warning glance.

Slowly, people begin to
filter out of the ballroom, and when I look around again, the crowd
of guests has diminished to only a few families. Maia and Jackson
leave as well. Blake looks markedly pissed when, upon saying their
goodbyes, Jackson and Maia both comment on what a great guy Tyler
seems. Before they walk away, Maia says to me, “Don’t forget to
call me tomorrow.”

“About what?” Blake
asks, blissfully unaware of how out of line and intrusive that
sounds.

Maia shoots him an
irritated look. “Girl stuff, Blake. Mind your own business.”

We leave shortly after.
And I take with me Tyler and my dirty little secret. Plus the
persistently nagging feeling that I am planning to marry the wrong
fucking person.

If
there is one thing I can’t fucking stand, it is when people tell me
how fucking awesome my brother is
. How they gush about
what a great guy he is, how easygoing he seems. He managed to create
a lasting impression with Emily, and now with Maia and Jackson within
five minutes of meeting them. I saw Jackson take down his number from
across the room. Jackson doesn’t even have
my
fucking number.
He wants
everything I have.
My blood boils, until I look over at
Emily, staring distractedly out of the town car window, watching the
lights of the big city pass by.

I smile to myself.
He
won’t have her.
She loves me too much. So does Aria.
He
won’t have her, either
. I put an arm around her shoulder
and pull her towards me. For the briefest of moments, I feel like she
recoiled at my touch.
Maybe my
hands were cold.

I have everything that
I want. A beautiful fiancée. A happy mother, since my upcoming
nuptials are closer than ever to being realized. A great job, with
amazing career prospects. Emily and I are one of this society’s
hottest couples. Our wedding will be the event of the season.

With her head resting
on my shoulder, I play with the tendrils of hair that tickle my chin.

“Blake?” she says
softly.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Are you sure that I
am the person that you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Why would you ask me
that?” I reply, not missing the sadness in her eyes, glistening as
she looks up at me.

“Just curious,” she
says.

“I love you,” I say
confidently. “I would do anything to keep you with me, forgive
anything. I hope you haven’t found a replacement,” I joke
nervously. Knowing that I have no choice in the future but to forgive
any of Emily’s indiscretions, although I highly doubt I will have
that issue, or any other form of betrayal. I’m not a hypocrite.
From the inside of my glass house, I’m not going to be the one
throwing stones.

But
that will never happen
. She loves me so much. And she
knows that I love her.
She just
doesn’t know about Aria.
Hell, every man I spoke to
tonight at that party was quick to divulge their dalliances with
escorts, hookers, mistresses. It’s almost like lighting a cigar or
seeing the wife walk away was the cue to start spilling their
secrets.

Seeming satisfied with
my response, Emily rests her head back down. She closes her eyes
briefly and brings her finger up to touch her lips gently. A small
smile plays across her lips. At the same time, a sinking feeling
lands in my gut, because I’m not one hundred percent confident that
I inspired that smile.

Emily goes straight to
the shower and then directly to bed when we arrive home. I run a hand
up her thigh and under her silk teddy, but she doesn’t respond.
She’s fast asleep. I’m so amped up from all of the networking.
I
want to celebrate
. So I grab my keys and sneak out,
locking the door behind me. If she asks, I’ll tell her what I
usually do, that there was an emergency at the hospital. That I had
to leave. She hasn’t figured out yet that I’m nowhere near having
the seniority or experience to be called in for emergencies. For now,
I’ll just milk it.

I haven’t called
Aria, but I expect that she won’t mind me swinging by. To my
surprise, the lights in the shop are still on. Being that it’s two
am, I hardly expect anybody to want a tattoo at this time of night. I
walk round the side and grab the key from its hiding place and
quietly unlock the door.

In the distance, I do
hear the faint buzzing of the tattoo gun. My brow creases in
frustration.
Who the fuck could
be here at this time of morning?
Then my heart drops.
What
if Aria is in there with someone?
What
if she got tired of being my side piece?
What
if my mistress is cheating on me?
That’s too fucked up
for even me to comprehend.

I walk purposefully
down the hallway, towards the shop. I hear Aria’s voice, melodic
and laughing over the buzz of the machine. A male laugh follows.
A
familiar laugh.

My blood begins to
boil, and a violent, scarlet rage clouds my vision. I slam through
the door, pushing Aria and her gun to the side, and slam my fist
mercilessly into Tyler’s startled face.
My
brother never did like a beating
. He immediately stands,
realization dawning, and comes at me, shoving me painfully into the
far wall. His blood coats my sleeve as I try to loosen his hold on my
shirt. I hear Aria screaming in the background for us to stop.
Swearing for trashing her room.