Scared of Forever (Scared #2) (8 page)

My left knee shakes
violently against the middle console of the car as I drive in to the
hospital. Emily’s questions unnerved me.
The
tattoo, the apartment
. It was too much of a coincidence to
come up all in one morning. If Tyler had anything to do with it, I
swear I just may fucking kill him.
She’s
mine
. They are
both
mine. He knows how possessive and jealous I am. The fucker is
probably just trying to rattle my cage.
And
I’m letting him.

Sitting in traffic this
morning irks me much more than usual. I slam my hand against the horn
impatiently, my foot itching to ram against the accelerator.
So
this is what the descent into madness feels like.

Walking into the hospital, I send a
text message.

Sorry baby, I can’t see you for a few days. Things are not so
great at home.

I hit send. Aria won’t
reply. She’ll be good and pissed when she reads it. I sigh and
shove the phone back into my pocket, praying that today is crazy busy
at the hospital, just so I can take my mind off of the rest of my
life.

I get my wish. The ER
is chaos, and I’m very grateful. I barely have time to breathe, let
alone think. I do agree to meet Chayse for lunch, since I blew him
off this morning. Upon entering the cafeteria, I see him, as usual,
punching another random number into his phone. I shake my head, in
both exacerbation and envy.

He manages to tear his
eyes from the blonde nurse he’s chatting up, nods, and walks over
to an empty table, where I join him.

“You need to quit
playing games and work,” I say.

“I am working. See
that, she needs a security escort to her car later. That’s what I
was doing,” Chayse replies with a grin.

“Whatever,” I say,
eyeing the counter, not even the slightest bit hungry.

“Everything okay,
man?” Chayse asks, with as much sympathy as two grown ass men
having a conversation will allow.

“Yeah, just Emily,
and this wedding thing, and my mother—” I lie, with a perfectly
straight face. I’m getting so good at deceiving people. It’s
starting to feel wrong, even to me.

Just as Chayse is about
to reply, my phone rings on the table. My mother’s name flashes
across the screen.

“Oh look, there’s
Lilith, the original she-demon now. I’m gonna go grab lunch,”
Chayse quips before standing and walking over to the counter. Chayse
has an intense dislike for my mother, and the feeling is mutual on
her end.

“Hello,” I say
tiredly.

“Blake, I transferred
the funds over at your request. Did you get them?” Eliza asks.

No ‘hello, how are
you?’ No ‘just checking to see that your life isn’t falling to
shit’. “I haven’t checked,” I say shortly.

“I hear your brother
is back in town,” she says curtly.

“Yeah, I saw him
yesterday,” I say, my anger instantly reigniting.

“And—?” she asks.

“And, he’s still
the same little punk that he was two years ago,” I say shortly, not
wanting to expand on the statement at all.

“Blake, need I remind
you that everyone is expecting a wedding shortly? My son, and his
fiancée, Emily. Remember our deal. Don’t think I don’t know
where my money goes. Emily is a far better choice for you. And I
won’t support you or your marriage to anyone else,” my mother
says cattily. I know exactly what she means.
Who
she means.

“What did you say to
Emily at lunch yesterday?” I ask.

“I just tested her a
little. She passed, since she hasn’t left you,” she replies.

“Yet,” I say. “She
was asking a lot of questions this morning.”

“Well, just keep her
happy, keep the rest of your
affairs
in order, and keep her away from your brother. The last thing I want
to deal with is another colossal mess due to some juvenile rivalry.”
she says sternly before ending the call.

I toss the phone onto
the table and lean back in the chair, running my hands through my
hair.
Now I really have lost my
appetite
. I still haven’t received a reply to my text
message from earlier. I don’t expect to.

Chayse returns with an
overloaded tray, and plonks it down unceremoniously on the table,
sending gravy splashing everywhere.

“Dude, seriously!”
I scold, wiping a stray drop from my phone’s screen.
I
hate messiness!

“So what did the
monster want?” Chayse asks. “Does she need some help cleaning out
the bowels of hell?”

“Funny guy,” I say
with a smile. “She was just checking in.”

“On what?” Chayse
asks. “You know, if you keep consorting with that woman, I may have
to start calling you Lucifer. Meanwhile, there’s a street race
downtown tonight, wanna come?”

“You know I don’t
go to those things anymore, not after what happened. I don’t know
why you still go, since your ass refuses to get behind the wheel of a
car,” I reply.

“You know my
reasons,” Chayse replies looking down. “So there was an accident,
they happen. Besides, you got a stint in an upmarket rehab facility
for it. I served time. Quit your bitching,” Chayse reprimands.

A pang of guilt
assaults my gut. The memory of that accident is so very real. Part of
the reason why Eliza Carson has me firmly by the balls for eternity.
Chayse never once blamed me for anything that happened that awful
night. Then again, Chayse doesn’t know the whole story. The only
people who know the whole story are me, my mother, and by default,
Tyler.

Shortly after, I excuse
myself from the table and head back to work. Anything is better than
wallowing in my own self-pity and staring at Chayse demolishing the
sickening cafeteria food, which smells like congealed grease.

The day races by, as it
always does when it’s busy. Before long, the clock hits six pm, and
I make my way back home.
This
time to Emily
. She normally texts me during the day to see
how I am. Today she didn’t. I walk in the front door of the
apartment, and see her busily stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, baby,” I
greet, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“Hi,” she says,
turning and landing her lips on mine. Maybe I was unnecessarily
worried after all. She kisses me slowly, and sensuously, her hands
sliding up my back over my shirt. I wince as she touches the still
tender new tattoo.

“Smells good,” I
say leaning over the stove. “What is it?” I love that Emily can
cook. I guess that makes me a bit of a chauvinist, but so be it.

“Steak, grilled rare,
the way you like it, with a green peppercorn sauce and potatoes au
gratin,” she says proudly.

“Wow,” I say, now
glad that I skipped lunch. “I’ll grab a quick shower and be right
back.” I feel Emily’s eyes on me as I walk into the bedroom.

After my shower we eat
dinner, and then I help her wash the dishes. She barely utters more
than a few words over the course of the meal. It’s a weird feeling
of disconnect. For the second time today, I’m unnerved by her
behavior.

“How was work?” she
asks softly.

My mind is so
distracted. “Busy,” I reply. I wonder, as I spin a plate around
in a kitchen towel, if now is a good time to approach my future wife.
It’s been awhile, too many days since I last touched her.
Felt
her
. But my ego hates it when she turns me down. I’d
rather not even bother, if that were the case.

She gives me a small
smile. I take a few steps towards her, remove the soapy glass from
her hand, and push her firmly against the kitchen’s island
countertop. Her face registers a look of surprise. She’s not used
to me being this rough.

“I’ve missed you,”
I whisper low and confident in her ear. She eyes me silently. I slide
both hands into the front of her button down shirt and rip it
fiercely apart, sending the buttons ricocheting across the kitchen
and onto the floor. Her perky, creamy breasts look positively edible
in the coral colored bra she’s wearing.

I look down and notice
her grip the edge of the counter
.
Fear, anticipation, or lust?
I can’t decipher it
exactly. I crash my lips into hers, hard. Her mouth opens to mine
hungrily. I grip her chin with my hand and move it to the side, my
lips tracing hard and rough kisses down the side of her neck. My
other hand grips her shoulder, my fingers kneading aggressively into
the soft skin. Emily cries out. Again, pain or excitement?
I
can’t tell
. I don’t stop to find out. My hand moves to
pull the bra down, and I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard.
Louder cries from Emily. My hand slips inside her pants, into her
panties, into the warm heat.

She
must like this.
She’s so very warm and so very wet. I
slide my fingers in. One, two, three, and pump into her fiercely. Her
body arches back in response. I look up at her face. She looks at me
with lust-filled, yet questioning eyes.

I reach down and pull
her pants down to her ankles, and then drop my boxers. Without
another word, I spin her around, lean her forward, and press into her
from behind. Emily’s body tenses as I slide into her. Slowly, but
purposefully at first. Her hands grip the sink’s single faucet in
front of her firmly, giving me the traction I need. I use one hand to
push her body against the cold stone countertop, and the other to
grip her, pulling her head back. This is reckless abandon and chaos
at it’s very best.

She moans, then cries
out, a small choking sound escaping her lips every time I pound into
her. Harder, faster now. I can’t tell if she’s crying in pleasure
or pain. She feels so tight, and I’m so far gone. It all just
sounds like white noise now. Her knuckles are nearly white from
gripping the tap so tightly. I give her one final thrust; it’s the
hardest, the deepest, the most violent. And finally, all the tension
in my body releases into hers.

I lean over her back,
loosening my grip on her hair, and seeing the strands on my hands
that came loose through my yanking. Emily is quiet. Her breath
ragged. This,
this
was ownership.
She was mine
.
I lace my arms around her waist and rest my head against her back,
listening to her breath, shallow and quick from the exertion.

She turns to face me,
her eyes look confused, but not angry. “Did I hurt you?” I ask,
pushing a strand of hair gently away from her face.

“No. I mean yes,
but—” she stammers.

A sinking feeling forms
in the pit of my stomach.

“I liked it,” she
finishes, oddly very shy suddenly. “It was different, somehow.”

“How?” I ask,
trailing a finger down her cheek, memorizing every bone, every angle.

“Just—different.”
She looks away quickly, as if to compose herself, then returns to
face me with a smile, looking almost as if it were forced. “I can
handle you though. I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” she
teases.

“Really?” I say
cockily. Emily surprises me often. But this time, this time I was
truly floored. I feel completely sexually emancipated. For the first
time since we met, I feel completed by Emily. Like I don’t need
anybody else.
Only I do
.
I need Aria.

“You would tell me if
I hurt you, right? I don’t wanna hurt you,” I add eyeing her with
genuine concern.

“You would never hurt
me,” she says, but it leaves her mouth as more of a question than
an affirmation. Her eyes search mine for a few moments, the question
hanging above our heads.

“Never deliberately,”
I say, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the bedroom.
Emily doesn’t protest when I pull her onto my naked body again. I
thought that fucking her would resolve the disconnected vibe I keep
getting from Emily, that if we were close sexually, then the feeling
of emptiness in the space between us would be bridged. That doesn’t
happen, though. My suspicions are further fuelled by the fact that
she sleeps with her back to me, avoiding curling into my arms as she
usually does.
I don’t like
this feeling at all.