Stealing Phin (17 page)

I
can’t
let
this
happen
again.
I
can’t
let
myself
get
swept
up
in
whatever
hold
he
has
over
me.

I pulled myself away from him and reached for another pancake. I handed it to him.

“A reward.” I smiled at him. “For being my Superman.”

“I’m no Superman.” He took the pancake and half-grinned, but there was sadness mixed with the fury in his eyes. “Superman would’ve flown to outer space, reversed the rotation of the Earth to turn back time and save his Lois Lane. I’m just an ordinary guy.”

He held the pancake like a cookie and bit into it. “And Superman wouldn’t have made the kinds of mistakes I’ve made recently.”

He frowned as he swallowed. He turned toward me, his eyes carried a pleading look, and he seemed nervous. Distraught, even. The way he looked made me think of the summer I stayed with my pious Aunt Helen when I was twelve. Twice a week, she’d drag me to church. The look on Byron’s face was the same one many of the people wore as they waited to go into the confessional.

I wondered what silent confession his eyes were trying to divulge.

“Well, Superman could’ve used a lesson in physics in that movie because I’m pretty sure that’s not how time works.” I joked to lighten hi mood.

Byron laughed despite himself, and it made me smile, though my head was spinning from the fact that he called me ‘his Lois Lane,’ as silly as that seemed. Afraid of the feelings that welled up inside me, I reached for the mug of coffee, not because I was thirsty, but because otherwise, my hands would have found themselves on him.

As I leaned toward the coffee table, I felt dizzy. My body tilted over clumsily. Byron grabbed my shoulders and steadied me.

“I think you still have some rohypnol in your system,” he said. “You need to lie down.”

I grunted and nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted again. I started to lie down, but Byron stopped me.

“I have a better place for you to sleep than this lumpy couch. I only put you here so that I could watch over you.” He stood up and held his hand out to me.

I looked up at him and paused, holding my breath. My thoughts raced through my mind so quickly I couldn’t hold any one of them down long enough to think straight.

He read into my hesitation. “I won’t disturb you. I’ll stay out here while you sleep.”

As I slipped my hand into his, I gave him a tight-lipped smile and hoped that he couldn’t read my thoughts. That he couldn’t tell how badly I wanted to stay near him. Or how badly I wanted him to sweet me up into his arms as he did last night and lay next to me on his bed. I was still confused by how he’d acted before we left La Fortuna. And although it had sounded like whatever relationship he was in at the time had ended, I couldn’t be sure. All I was sure of was the fact that I’d never met a man like Byron before. And for some inexplicable reason, despite all his secrecy and all my confusion about his motives, I wanted to be with him.

Neither of us said a word as he led me to his bedroom. Once inside, he let go of my hand, leaving me in the middle of the room while he went to the bed to pull the covers back for me. Uncertain of what else to do, I hung back and waited.

He came back to me and put his hand on the small of my back. He walked me to the bed, and after I pulled my feet off the floor and rested my head against the pillow, he pulled the covers over me gently. He went to the window and drew the curtain, making the room dark and cozy.

I kept my eyes on him all the while, watching him move—his strength belying his tenderness. Silently, I wished each moment he was with me would stretch out longer. But too soon, he finished prepping the room, and it was time for him to leave me to sleep.

As he stood at the door, the light from the hallway turned him into a mere silhouette. And as much as I strained my eyes, I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

As he turned to leave, I felt the need to ask him something. “Byron?”

He turned toward me again. “Yes?”

“Did you see me?” I asked. “At the pool, I mean.”

He paused. “I did.”

My heart sank. “Why did you leave? I called your name, and then you disappeared.”

Again, he paused before answering. “I heard my phone. Got a message I’d been waiting for. About something…really important.”

“You mean from
someone
really important?” I said despite my better judgment. “Like your girlfriend or wife?”

The outline of Byron’s head shook. “There is no girlfriend or wife, Phin. I swear.”

I deep breath escaped me, as I was instinctively inclined to believe him. But no sooner had my faith in Byron taken a step toward recovery when a million thoughts and questions crowded into my mind, driving it backward again.

“I know I’m not being very straightforward with you right now,” he admitted, somehow sensing my thoughts, “but it’s only because I don’t want to overwhelm you. You’ve had a rough night as it is. But I promise,” he sounded earnest, “once you’ve gotten some rest, I’ll explain everything to you.”

For some reason I knew that whatever he was going to tell me later had something to do with the secrets that had been eating away at him since the day I went to his room at the Volcano Villas. From the grave tenor of his voice, I sensed he was convinced I wouldn’t like hearing what he had to say. But he had saved me from Marco. So I decided to hang my faith on that and give him the chance to explain.

“Okay then,” I said.

His silhouette nodded. “Sleep well, Phin.”

Then, he quietly shut the door.

I roused from a deep slumber some time later. The first thing that registered in my mind was the softness of the pillow against my face and the smell of Byron lingering on its threads drifted into my nose as I breathed in. His scent filled my head and triggered a deep yearning.

I stretched my body, trying to dislodge the feeling. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with Byron. It was that I didn’t think I
could
be with him. After he’d left the room, I’d tossed and turned over his parting words. The more I tried to guess at what he’d reveal to me, the more horrible the possibilities I came up with.

But more than his secrets, I was afraid of him. I was frightened by how he made me feel. How intense my desire was for him. How powerless I became whenever he was near. This couldn’t be healthy.

I laid on my side and curled my body around one of his pillows, imagining it was him, hoping it would appease the ache that grew inside me. My mind, which had shaken off the last of the rohypnol, tormented me with clear recollections of that night in the pool. The smell of his skin, the electricity from his hands as they caressed my body, the thrill from the sensation of his mouth on my breast.

My hand found its way between my legs. I straightened my body and stretched out onto my back, spreading my legs. If only I could expel some of this desire, this ache in me. I moaned softly as my fingers tried to rub Byron out of my system.

I rubbed faster, circling my most intense spot, desperate to release the tension that seemed to have built up while I slept into seismic proportions. My wetness made me so slippery, I could hardly keep my fingers on the right spot. Frustrated, I tried harder. My body writhed under my touch, but I couldn’t get to relief. The ache was so intense it was almost painful. I heard another moan escape me, and I sensed a sharp divide between a small part of my brain’s sense of alarm that Byron might hear me and the hope carried by the rest of my entirety that he would.

Why did he always have to say words that spoke to my soul? Why did his looks always linger a moment or two longer than normal, as if his eyes were trying to tell me something there were no words for? Why did he fill up all my empty spaces and make me feel so fucking good?

As if in answer to my thoughts, I heard the click of the door latch. Warm yellow light spilled across the floor and onto the bed as the door opened. His black silhouette framed by the light behind him sent a rush through me. I could hear him breathing, and my breath quickened in turn.

My hand remained between my legs as I whispered the word that had become precious to me, despite all rhyme and reason. “
Byron
.”

He crossed the room slowly, watching me, and as he came nearer, I could make out the details of his face. All the conflicting and confusing mess of emotions that had passed over his face earlier were gone. Now, his face was a perfect reflection of what I was feeling—an excruciating needfulness. I let the last of my walls come down and succumbed to it.

If I get hurt again by Byron, I told myself, then let this be the last time I let myself be with him. And if this is the last time I am with him, then let him have
all
of me.

He was naked except for a towel wrapped his waist. His hair was wet. He stood by the bed and reached for the edge of the comforter that covered me from the waist down. He pulled it back. His eyes slid from my face to my hand. He reached for my hand and gently pulled it from between my legs. With his eyes fixed on mine, he got into the bed and positioned himself over me.

I ran my hands over his hard shoulders, his biceps, resting them on his chest, over his heart. His skin was still hot and damp from his shower, and my body responded to the feel of it with a wetness of its own. His heart pounded against his chest walls, the rhythm growing stronger and faster under my touch until it matched the beat of my own heart.

He brought my hands to his lips and kissed each of my fingertips. Then, he positioned my hands on the pillow over my head. He pressed them into the pillow with one hand and reached down with the other.

He gently worked my dress up my body. I let him undress me. I could sense his eyes feasting on the lines of my body as he peeled off my clothes. He was savoring each moment…and savoring me.

Soon, I was naked. He ran his hand along my side, from my hip to my breast, up my arm and back down again. His touch was so soft, it almost tickled. I felt vulnerable, but a delicious kind of vulnerability, lying under him naked.

His towel fell off his waist. He put his hand on the inside of my knee, and I complied, spreading my legs apart for him. He let go of his hold on my hands, but I kept them where they were. He kissed my breast and left a trail of kisses down my stomach as he slid down between my knees.

As soon as the tip of his tongue touched that part of me that wasn’t responding to my own fingers moments ago, a shot of energy surged through me.

My back arched against the mattress, a breath escaped from my lungs. I fought the urge to reach down and grasp his hair for leverage against the intensity he was bringing between my legs. I didn’t want him to stop, not for a moment, even though the pleasure was almost too much to bear.

When after countless ecstatic minutes I felt the waves of energy that signaled the coming of an orgasm, he took his tongue off me. He’d brought me so close to climax that my body shuddered with insane anticipation as he gently kissed the insides of my thighs.

How could this man, this virtual stranger, know my body so well? How could he sense my needs and wants so precisely and fulfill them so completely?

He rose back up my body and put his face before mine. He kissed me, and I could taste my sweetness on his lips. I could feel his urgency and how he held it in check, keeping his kisses soft and tender despite the desires ravaging through us both.

I cried out when he slid himself inside me. No longer able to keep my hands away from him, my arms came down from above my head. My fingers entwined with his wet hair as he thrust into me. I curled my legs around his hips and tried to draw him in even deeper. He understood and slipped a hand under the small of my back. He lifted my pelvis up and angled me just so. I cried out again as he hit a point of pleasure inside me I hadn’t known was there.

If I had known such a man existed. If I had known that it was possible to feel this connected to another human being. If I had known that love could feel this way…my life would’ve been so different leading up to now.

Byron had changed everything for me.

Our bodies moved together, writhing and pulsing in synchronized motions. I could no longer tell where my body ended and his began.

“Phin. Oh my God, Phin.” He whispered. I reached up and held his face, as our bodies prepared to plunge into the depths of pleasure. I held his eyes with mine. He gazed at me helplessly as he relinquished control over himself, submitting himself to the driving force that had taken over us both. Our minds and bodies and souls became slaves to our most primitive urges…and to the person who had awoken those urges. “Come with me, Phin.”

I nodded my head once and closed my eyes.

With a final series of thrusts, Byron cried out. I felt rush of blood course through my body as wave after wave of orgasm passed over me, incapacitating me. Byron kept in rhythm with me. I could feel the throb of him inside me until the last of the waves had passed.

Byron laid down on the bed next to me. We were both breathless. Our bodies damp and pulsating.