The Distraction (10 page)

He poured such passion into that kiss that I wept, so moved by his physical declaration that I couldn't imagine another person feeling more necessary than I did right then. Desperate to feel his skin on mine, I tore my tank top over my head, taking my bra with it, and shuddered as he pulled me close again. My heart was swelling, pounding against his chest, and his responded, strong and true.

“I want to try again,” I murmured.

He drew back, swallowed. Stared into my eyes for confirmation. Then he stood, and picked me up in his arms and carried me into the bedroom.

A
lec laid me on the bed, kissing me in a long, tender way that pulled at my heart.

“Don't move,” he whispered. He disappeared into the shadows and I rose to my elbows, brows creased in concern when I realized he'd gone into the closet. Surely he wasn't there to get the rope. When I'd said I wanted to try again I'd meant I needed him, not that I was ready to be tied up so soon.

He returned with two silk neckties—things I'd seen him wear when we first met. A lump formed in my throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding them in his fist.

“Alec, I don't want to ruin any more of your fantasies tonight.”

His thumb whispered across my cheekbone.

“You didn't ruin anything,” he said. “I don't have a fantasy where you're afraid.”

His words eased my mind but not my body; I still shivered when the tip of one of the neckties tickled my belly.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he said. “I swear, I won't hurt you.”

I nodded, knowing that he didn't mean physically, but mentally. Still anxious, I laid back down.

“I did this wrong before.” His voice was soft and low, and wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “Let me try to fix it. If it's too intense, just say the word.”

I considered this. “Okay.”

The silk slid up my shoulders and neck.

“I should have asked for your trust first,” he said.

My nipples pebbled as the tie passed lightly over them. They became so tight they were almost painful.

“You have it,” I said.

He trailed the material up the side of my cheek, and then slowly covered my eyes. As he reached behind my head to tie it, his lips found mine, and he kissed me for a long time, until the nerves scattered, and left in their place was something more demanding.

He drew back.

“I should have told you that I'll bring you back from anywhere I take you. I won't leave you, and I won't let you go.”

I gasped as he lifted my left wrist. He massaged the tender skin at the base of my palm, then kissed it. His tongue flicked over the red marks and I jerked, hypersensitive to his caress.

Let me try to fix this,
he'd said. It hurt my heart that he felt he needed to, but what had happened between us in the living room had changed me, and I would have been lying if I said I didn't want to replace what had initiated it.

I concentrated on my breath, but was unable to feel Bobby's restraints binding me as the tie slipped around my forearm. I waited for him to lift my wrist over my head to fasten it to the bed frame, but he did not. As I felt through the darkness, I found that he'd tied the other side to his own arm, the knot loose enough to turn or slip free if necessary.

His fingers wove through mine, feeling their way over the pads of my fingers. When our hands clasped, I shuddered, feeling somehow more joined to him than I did with him inside me.

“Alec,” I whispered. My senses were more acute with the wrap around my eyes. I could hear every compression in the mattress as he moved, feel the heat of his body as he adjusted his position to sit beside me. Desire throbbed low in my belly. I became desperate to know where he would touch me next.

“I should have told you I love you, Anna,” he murmured. “Because I do. I love you so much it fucking hurts.”

I stilled.

“I can feel you inside me.” He moved our clasped hands over his heart, squeezing tightly. “When you're in pain, I can't breathe. And when you're scared, I want to kill the man who did it, even if that's me.”

What he said slayed me. I wanted to take off the blindfold, see his eyes, but I didn't need to. The truth was right there in his touch.

“Forgive me,” he said.

I couldn't speak, my throat was so tight. Instead I nodded, and he rested his forehead on my shoulder. He kissed my chest, right above my heart. And then my shoulder, and then higher—at the base of my neck.

I siphoned in a quick breath. The softest touch there was enough to ignite my senses.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

He lightly pressed his lips just behind my ear and it felt like lightning zapping straight into my core. My back bowed, and my free hand squeezed the comforter.

He shifted positions, and his tongue swirled just below my collarbone, then drew a straight, wet line between my breasts. The peaks were tight, aching, and I turned my shoulders, trying to urge him to kiss there next.

He chuckled softly.

“Right here?” He blew on one nipple, and I arched, desperate for more contact. The cool air did nothing to ease the heat rising inside of me. I began to pant, turning feverish as he held back what I needed.

Feather-soft, his closed lips brushed a tightened tip, a brief whisper only. I quaked beneath him. My back dropped down hard enough to make the mattress bounce.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He moved our joined hands, twisting his wrist so that my palm rested against the back of his hand. With our fingers overlapped, he drew a slow circle around my other breast. I pressed down, urging him to touch me more firmly, but he withheld.

“Watching you,” he said.

My cheeks flushed. “Do you like that?”

He guided our hands lower, and switched positions again, so that his hand was behind mine. When we reached his jeans, he pressed my hand over his erection and my pulse quickened. I wanted to touch his bareness, wrap my fingers around his thick length. I wanted to stroke him until he couldn't take any more, and then guide him inside me so I could feel him lose control.

He groaned as I reached for the button at the top of his fly.

“Not yet,” he said tightly. “Just let me touch you for a while.”

What happened next was like nothing I'd ever experienced. He felt me, every inch of me. With his lips. His tongue. His fingertips, and sometimes mine. Each kiss took me higher, drew me tighter. Time ceased to exist. All thoughts vanished. There was only my body, trembling from the inside out, throbbing with a need so powerful tears soaked the blindfold to my temples.

He knew my body better than I did, and his attention to it was as reverent as it was meticulous. His tongue made a slow arc from my ribs to the rise of my pelvis. His teeth scraped the tender skin beneath my belly button. He eased my sweatpants and panties down over my thighs, blowing lightly over the top of my slit. Just when I thought he'd go lower, he turned me carefully, pulling our joined hands across my body, so that I was laying facedown with my forehead resting against my elbow.

The fingers of his free hand traced a line down the nape of my neck, between my shoulder blades. His thumb brushed over the small of my back, and then to the seam of my ass. He reached lower, and as I squeezed my thighs together I was sure he could hear the desire pooling there. A shattered groan broke free and I turned my face into the pillow.

“Don't hide from me,” he said firmly, and when his fingertips traced the bottom of my buttocks, I cried out hoarsely. I was too sensitive there. His touch shocked my entire body. My hands fisted, my toes curled. When his fingers drew close to the center he pulled away and turned me on my side.

I lost control of myself then. I struggled, trying to touch him, kiss him. I reached for his pants, angry that they were still on. I couldn't do this anymore. I needed him to take me.

He pinned my free hand over my head. The other was locked in his grasp.

“I have to feel you inside,” he said, breathing roughly.

My consent was a staggered moan. I'd been cresting the wave for too long. The hunger was consuming, greedy, and I was unable to keep it contained.

He lay close beside me, and lowered our bound hands down the center of my body. He'd switched our positioning again, so that my hand was beneath his, and when we reached between my thighs, the moisture made us both slippery.

“Feel what I do to you,” he said, pressing my fingers into my folds. “How much you need to come.”

My arm stretched as he pushed one of my fingers, with one of his, inside of me. It was different than when I touched myself. A million times more erotic. Our fingers twisted around each other as I followed his rhythm, in and out, twisting,
feeling
, as he'd said. I was soft and slick and hot, and I understood, for the first time, why he loved to put his cock inside me.

Then he shifted the pressure on my wrist against my clit, and I came hard.

I gasped for breath as the waves pelted me over and over again. Bolts of pleasure raging through my spasming muscles, across my belly, straight to my nipples and back again.

Somehow he'd twisted our hands, and I gripped his wrist while he gripped mine. He tossed one of my legs over his shoulder, dragging his tongue over the back of my knee while I bucked my hips. The teasing stopped there. With a growl of pleasure, he buried his mouth in my pussy and ate me. His tongue grazed over my swollen lips, then dove inside, a shallow, mind-blowing fucking that had me arching off the bed.

I shouted his name. He held me down with his other arm, pinning my thighs open wide. When his shoulders were wedged between, his mouth rose to my clit, swirled around the sensitive bud, and then lashed at it over and over again.

I was still coming.

His fingers plunged inside of me, spearing deep, ramming hard. His wrist rotated. Wet with my juices, his thumb reached lower, rimming that last unclaimed piece of me, and though my heels dug into the mattress and I pushed away, he kept at it. It was too much. Too good. He slowly pushed inside. Deeper, as I shuddered with a dark, forbidden pleasure. And then his fingers were fucking my cunt as his thumb fucked my ass.

I couldn't stop coming.

He withdrew all at once, leaving me empty for as long as it took to shove off my blindfold, rip open his fly, and shove his pants over his hips.

“Look what you do to me,” he muttered. His eyes were dilated, his face a pained grimace. Every muscle in his body was straining. A sheen of sweat covered his brow and chest, as if we'd already been fucking for hours. He didn't enter me; he rubbed his huge cock over my cleft. He thrust again and again, the underside of his engorged head grazing my clit. Then he pinned my hands over my head and, with a shout of ecstasy, exploded, spurting jets of hot semen over my belly.

I screamed one last time, and then fell limp on the bed, our hands so tightly locked my fingers were numb.

A
lec was gone when I woke up, but there was a baby blue silk necktie on the pillow next to mine, and that made me smile. I wrapped it around my wrist while I got ready, a constant reminder of what had happened last night. When it was time to leave, I decided to go retro and tied it in a casual knot over my white, button-up blouse. That way it would be like he was touching me all day long.

Though I should have shown up earlier to prepare for my 10:00 a.m. appointment, I breezed in at the last minute, telling myself it was because of traffic, not because I was avoiding my best friend.

Amy didn't care one way or the other. She was lying in wait in the laundry room, where I needed to get the supplies for my first massage. When I rushed in, she shoved the door closed behind me and blocked the way with her tiny, furious pixie stance. Amy was always a model for edgy fashion, and her choice for today was an outrageous black fur vest with a leather skirt. Knee-high zebra patterned socks offset her red patent flats.

“So that's why PETA was picketing outside the salon,” I said, grabbing clean sheets for the massage table.

She tugged down the bottom of the vest, and though I didn't look directly at her, I could feel her glare.

“It's faux.”

“I thought that was a Vietnamese soup.” I reached for the towels, and shoved them in the warmer. Every client was given a warm towel for the back of their neck while I did the foot scrub. It helped them relax.

“That's
pho
,” she said. “And since we're going there, the nineties called. They want their tie back.”

I snorted despite myself, and after one silent, strained moment, she reached for the tie and loosened the knot, fixing it in a way that was no longer retro, but like I'd just stolen it from a hot man I'd left behind in bed.

Realizing there was no way out but through her, I sighed, and faced the music.

And then wished I could beat myself over the head with a broom because she was crying. Actual, honest-to-God tears. My chest seized up. I hadn't seen her cry since we were in high school and her brother had died overseas.

“Stop being mad at me
right now
,” she demanded. “I hate it. I ate a half gallon of ice cream last night all by myself and then fell asleep in the middle of
Magic Mike
, which I'm pretty sure is illegal in like, nineteen countries.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, and threw my arms around her.

“Was it good ice cream at least?” I asked.

“It was both delicious and expensive,” she said. “And I wasted it on you when it was dedicated to a really lousy future boyfriend.”

I let her go, and leaned against the door beside her. I didn't care if I was a little late. Things weren't right in the universe while Amy and I were out of sorts.

“I'm sorry for being a total bitch about your sex-god convict,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder. “I pick the wrong guys, and so I like to forget the right guys are out there.”

“Stop,” I said. “First of all, he's an
ex
-con.”

She hiccupped a laugh.

“Second, you weren't a
total
bitch. I'm lucky to have someone who worries about me. I'm sorry, too.”

I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. Now I just had to clean things up with my dad and life would be back to normal.

“The right guy is out there.” I hesitated, thinking about what she'd just said. “You don't pick the wrong guys on purpose do you?”

“Of course not.” She frowned. “Maybe. Why?”

I was reluctant to bring it up, especially since we'd just gotten over a fight, but the way she was chewing her thumbnail pushed me to go there.

“You haven't had more than three dates with anyone since Danny.”

She crossed herself at the mention of her ex-husband.

“Bad luck,” she said.

“You sure you don't look for relationships that fail?”

“Why the hell would I do that?” She said it in a way that made my heart hurt, like it was a question she'd already tried to figure out. Not for the first time, I wondered if Danny had really messed her up when he'd abandoned her with Paisley. She'd never shed tears over him, but sometimes the deepest wounds were the ones you locked away.

“Because you're afraid of getting hurt,” I offered. “Or so you don't have to break Paisley's heart if she gets attached.” I rubbed the silk tie between my fingers. “Maybe because you don't think you deserve something good.”

“Well that's not true,” she scoffed. “I ate a half gallon of twelve dollar, peanut butter potato chip ice cream last night.”

“Geeze,” I said. “You sure you're not pregnant?”

“It has a chocolate base,” she said, as if this explained everything. Which it sort of did.

She shrugged. “I actually did meet a guy yesterday.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. He was checking out apartments at my complex. He's cute. And he seems . . . different.”

“Uh-oh,” I said. The warmer dinged, and I opened the microwave-sized door to fan out the towels. “Different how?”

“Nice,” she said. “Into me. Not all aloof and meatheady.”

“Well that's a good place to start.”

“We're going out for lunch tomorrow. If things go well I might even spring for a babysitter next time.” She returned to chewing her thumbnail. “I was thinking you and Alec should come over this weekend for a barbeque. We could all . . . talk.”

Her doubt was obvious, but nevertheless I appreciated the gesture. I wanted her to get to know Alec better. She wouldn't be able to keep herself from liking him once they spent five minutes together.

“I'd love that,” I said.

“Maybe I'll invite Jonathan, too. That way it'll be completely awkward, instead of just sort of awkward.”

I smirked as she laughed at herself. It wasn't true of course; she'd never bring home a guy she barely knew to meet her daughter.

“I've got to go play masseuse.” I used my most soothing, bordering-on-porno-mistress voice.

“What are you doing for lunch? We should get sushi.”

“Shit.”

Her words triggered my memory. I don't know how I'd completely forgotten to tell Alec about the visit from his “parole officer”—the jerk who'd barged in and left a card for a sushi restaurant.

“What is it?” Amy asked.

I rushed out of the room. “Nothing. Just remembered something. Got to go get my ten o'clock.”

I raced into the break room, grabbed my phone, and texted Alec:
Parole officer looking for you.
Hoping that he'd get to the bottom of this, I relaxed my shoulders, summoned my calm, and went out to retrieve my client.

*   *   *

Amy was only scheduled for the morning, and since I had made myself late, I ended up snatching only a few pieces of take-out sushi from the break room before my two o'clock. Alec hadn't texted me back. I assumed this was because he was working his new job at the shipping yard, but it still made me nervous. Before picking up my client, I texted him again, in hopes that this would somehow help him get the message.

My cell phone buzzed moments later, but it wasn't Alec, it was a voice mail from Wayne, Jacob's caseworker. He must have called while I was grabbing my lunch.

“Hi there, Ms. Rossi, it's Wayne from the department of family services. Listen, I know it's last-minute, but I got you a slot with Jacob's judge today at four forty-five. You've only got ten minutes of her time, but it's our best shot at getting Jacob placed with his sister. Hope to see you then.”

I tapped the phone against my chin. My last client was at 3:30 p.m. Even if I rushed, there was no way I was going to make that window. I had to see if someone would cover for me—after talking with Alec last night, I was even more resolved to find Jacob and his sister a good, stable home.

I checked my client list, but several of them had flip-flopped earlier during the day due to cancellations and rescheduling. Derrick was off, and the girl who worked the front desk had gone home for the day, so I didn't even know who my last client was.

It was a total cluster fuck.

I saw my one o'clock, and then my two fifteen, and had still not found a suitable replacement. I was just about to bite the bullet and leave “sick” when I caught sight of my three thirty in the waiting room.

Trevor was holding a men's magazine, but his eyes were set on the salon side of the building as I approached. In tailored gray pants and an oxford shirt he should have looked more relaxed, but his heel was beating a fast rhythm against the floor.

Memories of our last encounter in the deli came on fast as I approached. I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering the way he'd tried to treat Alec like a third wheel, and then kissed me on the cheek before leaving.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, hearing the edge in my own voice. He knew I worked here—we'd talked about it on more than one occasion—but I'd only ever seen Trevor for sessions at the gym, and either way his appointment wasn't supposed to be until tomorrow. My hand went automatically to the tie, and the smooth feel sent a spike of heat through my center. Immediately, I released it. That was a response I saved for Alec, no one else.

He looked up, as if surprised that I was standing there.

“Anna, hey.” He stood, and set the magazine down. “Since you can't do lunch tomorrow anyway, I thought I'd grab an earlier session this afternoon. Your receptionist said you had a cancellation.”

There he was, being all nice and friendly. No sign of the testosterone that had reared its ugly head yesterday with Alec.

“Well actually, I was going to try to reschedule this hour,” I told him.

He looked like a sad puppy dog. That I'd just kicked.

“Because of what happened at the restaurant,” he surmised. “That was out of line. I can explain.”

He glanced again at the salon side, where four stylists were working their magic.

“Do you need a haircut or something?” I asked bluntly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“No.” He looked back at me. “Sorry, thought I recognized someone. What was I saying?”

My brows lifted. “You were explaining.”

“Right.” He raked his fingers through his neat, blond hair. “I like you. And I don't want you to get hurt. And I guess I was still thinking that maybe he'd upset you and that's what was wrong . . . I don't know. I get defensive over people I care about.”

My arms fell. The mad melted in a puddle at my feet. But I still didn't want him thinking he could just bat his long, dark eyelashes and get his way.

“That doesn't mean you can be an ass to my boyfriend.”

He held up his arms in surrender. “I know. I told you it was out of line.”

“And I told you, I was upset about my volunteering gig, which actually is the reason I was hoping to cancel this appointment.” I pulled him off to the side, and quietly explained that I had a chance to meet the judge and make a case for Jacob's placement.

“Sounds like you better go,” Trevor said when I was finished.

I gave him a careful once-over. His jaw was perfectly smooth, as if he'd just shaved before he'd come, and his blond hair was perfectly styled. If Alec hadn't been in my life, I might have seriously considered rolling in the sheets with him.

“You're a good friend, you know that?” I said.

He waved me off.

“Please,”
he said. “You're making me blush.”

He was kidding, and I laughed, but there was a twitch in the muscles around his eyes that made me wonder if there wasn't more than friendliness to his “I like you” comment.

He said he'd call the gym to reschedule, and after watching him walk out the front door I went to the break room to get my things, and then hurried across town to the courthouse.

*   *   *

Less than two hours later I was running through the hallway of the courthouse after a very pissed-off ten-year-old boy. I dodged in and out of the people contesting speeding tickets and traffic fines, but still wasn't quick enough to catch him. Before he passed the elevators, a security guard blocked his way, and the chase ended abruptly.

“Thanks,” I told the officer.

“This is bullshit!” Jacob spun to face me. His black hair was recently trimmed, and he'd been given new hand-me-down clothes and shoes. The foster-care special.

“You think I don't know that?” I asked.

I motioned him off to the side and reluctantly he followed.

“You said Sammy could come stay with me.”

I waited until he threw himself down on the wooden bench before I sat beside him. I massaged one throbbing temple with my thumb.

“I said I would talk to the judge about it.”

He swung his legs angrily. “And she said I can go to another house if I run away.”

I groaned. I could have strangled that judge. She hadn't told him to run away. She'd told me, in front of him, that he didn't show evidence of being a flight risk, as I'd claimed, and that if he
was
she would consider another placement. For the meantime, both Jacob and his sister were safe, fed, and had a roof over their heads. There was no need to make special accommodations when so many other children were in more critical situations.

Translation: The state doesn't have the money to move kids to a private home, one that accepts boys with explosive tempers, and girls who've been abused.

Translation to a ten-year-old: Run away and you can live with your sister.

“Don't run away,” I said. A chill crept down my spine. My own mother had used those same words the day she'd died. “If you feel like you need to, call me. You still have my number, right?”

He didn't answer. I hoped that meant yes.

“What the judge meant is that if you run away, they'll move you to a place where you can't run away again, do you get what I'm saying?”