Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (176 page)

“K,” I say.

I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples are most definitely hard in the cool evening air. I close my eyes and let my head drop as he works at the knots.

He’s a magician with his hands. It’s not an erotic massage. But he still knows how to touch
just so
. My muscles turn to jelly beneath his fingers. I think I moan.

“Lie forward,” he says softly. “Let me work on all of you.”

Slowly, I lower myself on the cushion. His hands roam down to my hips, then glide over my arms. He massages my thighs, then goes lower to brush his fingers over my calves.

I sigh into the seat. Feeling so very much content in this moment, I close my eyes and let his hands explore my body.

He touches me like I’ve never been touched before. Like I’ve never
let
anybody touch me before.

Like I never knew I needed to be touched before.

“Roll over,” James whispers.

I look at him over my shoulder and see those stunning, shining eyes. I smile dreamily and do as he says.

He runs his hands over my shoulders then down over my breasts. He starts kneading them.

“These need particular care,” he tells me.

“Mhmm,” I purr. “They are very, very tender.”

James makes an aroused sound from deep in his throat.

I give him a silly smile. Then, I reach over and place a hand on his cock. I rub him, feeling his arousal grow hand and thick under his pants.

His hands fall away as he exhales a shuddery, tense breath.

I bite my lip and flip over again. I crawl to his lap, place my face between his legs, and start to stroke him through the fabric.

He groans.

“Do you like that?” I ask him. I look up through long lashes and bat my eyes. “Do you want me to taste you?”

“God, Celeste,” he exhales.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I tell him, and slip his pants down.

His cocks springs free. Reverently, I brush my fingers over it. I grip him by the base, then pull him toward me, loving the way his hard erection resists the movement. I part my lips, poke my tongue out just a little. I flick the tip of his dick. He shudders.

Then, I push myself up and take his entire length into my mouth. My tongue traces the ridges and runs over the veins as I pull my head back. I lick up one side, then the other, covering him in my saliva.

Above me, James watches like a man caught in rapture.

I start to stroke him and bob my head. He grows in my hand. I stroke fast, squeezing him hard. His hips start to pulse. He brings my hair back over my head so he can see my face. I look up at him and suck, suck, suck, loving the adoration reflected in his eyes.

“Fuck, Celeste, don’t stop. Never stop. That feels so—
ahh
,” he moans, as I take his full cock in my mouth again. “So—so fucking good.”

I love the encouragement, love his husky, scratchy voice. It turns me on to hear
him
so turned on.

I suck harder, stroke faster, pushing him toward his release.

“Celeste,” he gasps. “Celeste, I’m going to come.”

“All over my face,” I tell him, sliding my fist up and down in double time. “I want your cum all over me. Soak me, James!”

And right there, he explodes. His cum scorches me. Some girls would hate that feeling, but I absolutely fucking love it. Because I know how much it turns him on. Because I know how erotic it is.

“Shit, Celeste,” he says. I look at him and see his glazed-over eyes. “That was… that was…” he drops his head back and stares upward. “There are no words.”

“That was my thank you for letting me stay,” I tell him. I scoop the cum up in my fingers. “And this,” I say, putting my fingers one-by-one in my mouth and sucking them dry, “is so you know that I’m not your guest, but your
lover
.”

36.

No amount of coffee can counter my grogginess the next day.

We had sex all night. Only when the sun came up did we finally close our eyes, and that was only for an hour or two.

But even if I am tired, everything I do feels like it’s part of a dream. James made me feel so good.

From S to J,
I think slyly. It’s a trade-off I wouldn’t have made a week ago, but one that I absolutely adore now.

We continue on like that every day for the next two weeks. It’s class, then sex, then sleep, then sex, then class, then sex, sex, sex.

It’s safe to say I’m kind of addicted.

I catch scant little sign of Summer. She still isn’t taking my phone calls. She ignores me completely whenever our paths cross on campus.

The whole time with James, however, I’m acutely aware of the exact date of my upcoming appointment. The one where I find out what’s
really
wrong with me.

At three PM the day of, my phone buzzes with a reminder.

Time to see the doctor.

I start for the hospital.

***

Half an hour in the waiting room turns into one hour, then two, then three. The receptionist apologizes multiple times, saying they’re really running busy.

I shrug it off, but I can’t entirely mask my discomfort. I hate being here any longer than necessary.

Finally, it’s my turn. I’m brought into the office to meet Dr. Robinson.

The temperature drops the minute he steps into the room. I know, just from his solemn expression, that he does not have good news.

“Your tests results came back,” he tells me without preamble. “It’s as I suspected. I’m sorry to say, Celeste, but the scans found a growth.”

A “growth.” A soft euphemism for a tumor. An even softer one for
cancer
.

In the span of a single conversation, I become
The Girl with Cancer
. Again.

I know the drill. I’ve been through it twice already. Weeks of chemotherapy and feeling awful. Constant monitoring, consistent testing. A life defined by hospital visits and appointments and hiding my symptoms once more.

My mind kind of goes blank as the doctor talks. I nod and murmur in agreement at appropriate places.

Inside, I feel absolutely hollow.

Suddenly my ears perk up. “Good news?” I repeat.

“Yes.” Dr. Robinson smiles in a sympathetic way. God, how I hate when people look at me like that. I have to suck it up and bear it in the hospital, but past that? I’m at my limit. “We found the tumor fairly early. With treatment and proper therapy, you’ll be able to live a pain-free life.”

“And… the prognosis?” I ask.

“That depends on your response to treatment,” the doctor hedges.

I look him straight in the eye. “I’m not a little girl, doc. I know the odds can’t be good. This is the
third
time. What are my chances of survival?”

“It’s really too early—“

“Please,” I make my voice hushed. “I need to know.”

He exhales. “At this point? No better than half.”

***

I’ve always been a glass-is-half-full sort of girl. On my way out, I picked up a quarter from the floor. The entire walk back to James’ apartment, I’ve been turning it over in my palm. Feeling one side, then the next.

Fifty-fifty. Flip a coin, choose your fate. Heads you live, tails you die.

I flick the quarter up in the air. It goes spinning high. I catch it and cradle it in my hand, then slap it against my wrist.

Heads, or tails, I wonder.

Then, without looking, I let it drop into the storm drain.

The doc said the sooner we begin treatment the better. I agreed. If I’m going to feel miserable, I might as well start now.

The first chemo session is this weekend. There’s no question—I’ll have to move out of James’s apartment before then. Now is the time to cut all ties.

The doctor’s appointment was just the wake-up call I needed after last night. I can’t go falling for a man, breaking all my rules, and then—
whoops, it’s tails
–dying on him.

I’d much rather go at it alone.

That means Summer has until Friday to talk to me. If she doesn’t—and I hate doing this—but if not, I’ll have no choice but to go to the building manager.

I hope things don’t degrade to that.

I head straight for James’s place after the hospital visit.

I’m not going to sulk and despair. I’m going to go on about my business as if nothing’s wrong. I’ll hide the sickness as long as possible.

If I die, it’ll be like getting struck by a bus. But I’ll leave James long before then.

He won’t get hurt.

I enter the apartment lobby. I still feel out-of-place in such a splendid building. I mean, I can fake like I belong. But deep down I’m a small town type of girl, and this sort of luxury is entirely unknown to me.

As is the way James looks at me after he kisses me.

What! Where did that thought come from?

I shake my head to dispel the image as I climb in the elevator. I start the detachment process from James. I can’t get lost in made-up, fairy tale fantasies.

I arrive in his loft. “Hello?” I call out. I wait for an answer, but none comes.

I guess I’m alone for now.

I’m making myself a quick snack in the kitchen when I hear a shuffling noise from the second level.

I look up. “James?” I ask. “Is that you?”

“No,” a sultry, unpleasant female voice answers me. “It is not.”

My stomach sinks as Angela emerges from the bedroom. I suppress a groan.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “James said you’re not allowed inside. I
heard
him revoke the privilege.”

“Oh, pah pah,” she mocks, sliding one hand along the railing as she descends the steps. One
bejeweled
hand. There are so many rings covering her fingers that I’m surprised her skinny arms have the strength to support them.

She’s wearing a black dress, sleek and tight and strapless. Her hair is done up in elaborate, shining curls. Her lipstick, a deep, deep red, makes her look very much like a vampire. Coupled with the dark mascara around her eyes and the long, black, obviously fake lashes, she presents a formidable figure.

But I’m not intimidated. I know the story behind all her gaudy wealth. I know how she used James to prop herself up. I’ve dealt with women like her before. The ones who are so insecure in their beauty they go to extraordinary heights to emphasize every single feminine feature they have.

The fake, power-hungry, manipulative bitches.

“Do you think,” she says at the bottom, “that just because you’ve fucked my husband once or twice you have a right to crawl into this apartment, like some disgusting roach, and start prancing around in my place?” She laughs a rich, sarcastic laugh.

I glare at her, feeling my anger rising and trying my best to suppress it. Getting into a cat fight with James’s wife is
not
what I need at the moment. Still, I’m not just going to stay here and take her insults.

“Your boobs look nice,” I tell her sweetly. “How much did James pay to get them done? Ten, fifteen grand? Something like that?” I smile through gritted teeth. “The surgeon did a marvelous job making you look attractive. Too bad that wasn’t enough for your
ex-husband
.”

Her back stiffens. She turns on me. “You dare…”

“Oh yes,” I cut in, stepping right into her personal space. “I
dare
.”

We stare at each other for a long, icy moment. Then she glances down at my clothes, and scoffs a laugh.

“Look who’s talking,” she says. “You barely look like you have a figure under there.”

I smile back. “James seems to think different.”

“The man will stick his dick into anything with two legs,” she tells me. “Sweetie, I hate to break your heart, but you’re just the flavor of the month. Quite soon, he’ll get bored with you…” She crosses her arms beneath her breasts, emphasizing her sizeable cleavage, “and come to me. I mean, look at yourself.” She touches my hair. “Your split ends. Your clothes. Do you know how
impoverished
you look?” She tosses her head. “Do you think you have
anything
over me? I mean, really.”

“I have an invitation to be inside,” I tell her in the most innocent voice possible, “while you, quite clearly, are trespassing.”

“Hah!” she laughs it off. “You think that will last longer than a week? James will come to his senses and realize that
I’m
the woman for him. And when he does? It’s bye-bye to poor little you. So enjoy it while it lasts.”

She lowers herself onto the massive leather couch.

I open my mouth to inform her she’s sitting
right
where James and I fucked last night.

Unfortunately, I don’t get the chance. The front door bursts open. James storms inside.

“My darling!” Angela exclaims, coming to her feet. “How I’ve longed to see you.”

“
You
,” James says, staring daggers at his ex, “have no right being inside.” He sees me, and his eyes widen. “Shit, Celeste. You were here alone with her?”

I walk up to James and hook an arm through his. “It’s okay, baby,” I say, giving him a kiss. “Angela and I had a nice chat. We’ve become quite close.”

She stares at me, outraged.

“Hah,” James laughs. “I doubt that. Angela—dammit, what the hell are you doing here? We’ve been through this before. You are
not
welcome.” He points to the open door. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Oh James, sweetheart, don’t be so rash,” she says. “Don’t you want to know why I came?”

James shakes his head. “Angela, whatever the hell you’re up to, I don’t care. You need to leave. Now. If you show up again, so help me God, I’ll be forced to get a restraining order. You’re pushing the limits of my generosity.”

She ignores his words completely and struts toward us, swaying her hips.

“But today’s such a big day, silly,” she tells him, reaching behind her dress for the zipper. She pulls it down and lets the skin-tight fabric flutter to the floor.

She steps right out of it, in nothing but black lace panties and a matching bra.

A stab of envy punches me in the gut. Her body is flawless. She takes better care of it than I do mine.

“Today marks the eighth anniversary of your first published work,” she purrs. She stops in front of us. I grip James’s arm tighter, protectively.