"Yeah...that would be great," I say with a smile. "How about Saturday?"
"Perfect," JT says with a grin. "That will give me time to find a presentable date of the non-Sugar Baby variety."
"Really trying to turn over a new leaf, huh?"
God, I hope that didn't sound too shitty.
JT just laughs and nods. "I told you, bro. I'm getting my shit together, and I'm sure my mom won't have any problem finding me a nice, young socialite with a perfect pedigree for me to bring along."
"Sounds lovely," I say dryly.
"Dude...you know it's not, but I don't want to feel like a third wheel, so I'm going to go call my mother right now."
"Can't wait to meet the future Mrs. Jonathon Townsend," I say with a laugh.
JT grimaces and shakes his head, but there's amusement on his face. "Later," he says, and then he's gone.
I glance at my watch. Only 3:45 p.m. and I wonder what Sela's doing. Her classes don't start back up until tomorrow, so I'm thinking she's probably home all alone and needing some company. I glance back to the code, knowing I need to get this done.
Back to my watch and think of Sela.
Fuck the code. I can work on it later tonight after she falls asleep.
--
I flip through the mail as I walk to the condo door. A small cream envelope with my name and address written in emerald green calligraphy stares up at me. I grimace and open it, knowing what it is and yet still feeling compelled to read it.
The honor of your presence is requested to join Mr. and Mrs. Beckett W. North, Sr., as we celebrate the Christmas holiday with our friends and family...
Jesus. I hate getting these things.
There are two functions every year that I'm expected to make an appearance at. First is my father's birthday, which is in June, and the second is their annual Christmas party. While my relationship with my parents is tenuous at best, arcticlike cold at its worst, I do try to accommodate these functions. My father, who is an investment advisor and a very good one at that, has an immense backlist of helpful business contacts, and I'd be a fool not to take advantage of at least that opportunity.
I'm surprised when I see a handwritten note at the bottom in black ink. I recognize my mom's handwriting: Beck...we look forward to seeing you soon. Perhaps encourage Caroline to attend.
I bark out a laugh at the ludicrousness of that statement and tuck the stack of mail under my arm. I guarantee you that Caroline threw the card unopened into the trash the minute she saw the calligraphy and return address. She has no need of our father's business pull and she sure as shit has no need for her parents. They failed her when she needed them the most and she'll never forgive that.
Neither will I for that matter, but I'll probably attend anyway. I'm sure Sela would be happy to go with me, and that will make it at least tolerable.
I unlock the condo door, my blood firing at the prospect of seeing her. It's like I can feel her presence just on the other side, and my heart races as my body tightens all over. It's a feeling I won't ever get used to, and don't ever want to anyway.
I push the door open, feel the utter silent stillness, and then my eyes immediately come to Sela as I see her sitting in an overstuffed white leather chair near the window. It normally doesn't belong there but rather flanks one side of the black marble fireplace, and she clearly dragged it over there. Her bare feet are curled up underneath of her, and her head is resting on the back of the chair with her face tilted toward the enormous wall of windows. She's staring out over the Bay, and in her right hand, she loosely holds a utility knife.
She doesn't even turn to acknowledge me.
"Hey," I say as I set the mail down on the table and drop my keys on top of it. As I shut the door, she turns to look at me and her face is a blank canvas. Normally I'm greeted with a soft smile. Often she'll walk up to me, hips swaying before giving me a sweet kiss on my lower jaw.
Now she just looks at me impassively, not even surprised to see me standing there.
"Hey," she says, her voice low with a morose tinge.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my eyes dropping to the utility knife.
She looks down at it, her thumb rubbing over the plastic handle. "Nothing," she says vaguely. "I was getting ready to open up some of my boxes."
Sela and I went to her apartment on Sunday and she packed up more of her stuff to move in. It was mostly the rest of her clothing, books, and a few framed photos of her family. Three boxes in all and they sat in the corner of the living room untouched.
Something about Sela sitting there, looking sadly out the window with a box cutter in her hand seems terrifying to me. She looks small and alone, and despite the bright light pouring in, seems to be filled with darkness.
I walk over to her, skirting the couch and coffee table. When I reach the chair, I squat down in front of her, placing my hands on her thighs. She stares down at me, her face revealing nothing.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
A small smile comes to her face. She reaches her free hand out and touches the tips of her finger to my jaw before they fall away. "Nothing. Just sitting here enjoying the view."
My head turns to look out at the dark bay waters sparkling with the rays of today's unusually bright sun. I turn back to her. "You look sad," I observe.
"Pensive," she offers instead.
"About what?"
Sela shrugs. "Lots of things."
"Not helpful," I say with a small smile, and I'm heartened when she returns it.
"What are you doing home so early?" she asks, not sounding the least surprised and in a suave change of subjects. Or maybe it's just that her voice sounds dull, matching the gray that seems to be emanating from her.
"Thought I'd come spend time with you," I tell her, my thumbs stroking her legs through her denim jeans.
And suddenly, a little color comes back into the picture as she gives me a sweet smile, her head tilted to the side. She uncurls her legs, which dislodges my hands. I stand up, and she does the same, stepping into my body. She presses her cheek to my chest and wraps her arms tight around my waist.
"I'm glad," she whispers.
I squeeze her affectionately, rubbing my hand into her lower back. "What do you want to do?"
She doesn't hesitate a moment. Pulling back, she drops the utility knife to the hardwood floor where it clatters unceremoniously, and tucks her fingers underneath my belt buckle. Giving me a tug, she turns toward the hallway that leads to our bedroom.
"I want to fuck," she says simply, and who am I to deny her?
I follow her back.
Chapter 21
Sela
I pull off my shirt the minute I step into our room, dropping it to the floor. Beck walks over to the dresser and takes off his watch, setting it on the polished top. He then pulls his own top off, a light gray cashmere V-neck sweater that hugs him in all the right places.
My stomach tightens marginally as his back is revealed to me and I take in the red phoenix on his shoulder. I know in my heart of hearts that Beck was not there that night. Going by simple math alone, he would have been eighteen and in his last year of prep school. JT is four years older, meaning he would have been twenty-two when he raped me. That alone doesn't add up.
But more than that, I just know Beck would never have that in him. He would never hurt or violate a woman. He would never participate in a brutal gang rape. His violent reaction to JT that night he tried to drug that woman proves it, and besides...I just know it deep in my soul.
At least that's what I tell myself every time I see that tattoo.
I normally will drop my gaze away, wait for him to turn that beautiful chest my way before I can look upon him again. The overwhelming sadness I've been feeling the last few days seems to compound as I look upon it. He toes his shoes off. Undoes his belt.
I stare at the phoenix, hating that there's a part of Beck that I hate.
Hating it even more because I hate myself for what I'm doing to him.
Ever
since last Friday when he caught me sneaking back into the condo...when he called me a liar, not even really understanding how deceptive I was being...I've been mired in guilt. During those few minutes when he called me on my lie, and I thought he was going to throw me clean from his life, I knew in my soul that Beck North was the best thing that ever happened to me. When it all seemed to be crumbling away, and I was clawing furiously to get him to see past my lies, I had a moment of clarity when I realized that revenge on JT was not ever going to be worth the hurt I could put on Beck.
Despite that horrid tattoo that seems to leer at me, a constant reminder of everything that was taken away from me, I don't think I can go through with my plans.
Today I wandered around the condo aimlessly, my copy of his office key tucked into the bottom of my makeup bag in the bathroom. It was the prime opportunity for me to search his office, and yet I steered clear of it, refusing to even look at that fucking office door.
Even if I knew without a doubt that there was a clear-cut answer in there about how I could avenge myself, I just couldn't make myself do it. I just couldn't betray Beck in that way. Even more horrific to consider was the effect it could have on him if I was successful in killing JT, especially if he ever realized that he was an unwitting partner in my murderous plot. He'd never be able to forgive himself, and I cannot bear to ever lay a torturous burden like that upon him.
And while I'd been in a funk since our near undoing last week, I sank into a dark depression today as I realized my quest to destroy my rapists was going to go unfulfilled. While in my head I knew that the reward of having Beck in a completely transparent and trusting way would be more than enough for me, I was heavily mourning my loss of vengeance. So sunk into my nasty thoughts, I had pulled the utility knife out of Beck's kitchen drawer and carried it around with me.
Did I think about using it on myself?
Not really.
But I held on to that vile thing as a reminder of how far I'd sunk before, and that at that point in my life I didn't have anything to live for.
With Beck in my life, I couldn't say that now.
So it meant that there was going to be a part of me that would always be damaged, and I would just have to live with it.
I would just have to learn to live with it.
Beck turns to face me, but the tattoo is still in my peripheral vision as his back is reflected in the mirror that sits on top of the dresser. He smiles at me, his hands pulling the belt free of its loops and dropping it to the floor.
I would just have to learn to live with it.
My eyes cut to his reflection, and I swallow hard against the bitterness and hatred within me. I walk across the room as he watches me with heavy-lidded eyes. When I reach him, I step to his side, and with my hand on his waist, I turn him gently away from me.
Lifting my hand, which is shaking with fear, I place the tips of my fingers against the left wing of the phoenix. Beck lets out a sigh as I trace the outline.
"What are you doing?" he asks gruffly. I've never once mentioned his tattoo or inquired about it. This is the first time I've ever touched it.
"Where did you get this?" I ask softly, running my fingers along his skin...tracing the flaming feathers on the tail.
"A little tattoo parlor in Palo Alto," he says.
"While you were at Stanford." It's a statement I can easily deduce based on the fact I assume this might be a fraternity thing and I knew JT and Beck went to Stanford together.
"That's right. Got it after I pledged."
"All members of the fraternity have it?"
"No," he says with a shake of his head. "Just a small group of us."
Bile rises in my throat over the implication but I push it down. Beck was not a part of my rape.
He wasn't.
I make myself lean forward and press my lips to the skin colored with red, gold, and orange feathers of flame. It's warm and he smells like Beck. Clean, fresh, wild.
He turns abruptly, his arms snaking around my waist. He peers down at me intently, understanding that something is going on that he just doesn't quite understand.
"Sela?" he asks in question.
"I'm sad," I tell him truthfully, thinking I should feel self-conscious over admitting a vulnerability to this man, and yet feeling completely and utterly safe in my revelation.
Beck's eyes go soft with sympathy and his hands come to my face. He cradles me gently, bends down further, and kisses my forehead. "What's wrong, baby?"
Your best friend raped me.
While I don't think you did, I have maybe a sliver of a doubt. No, not really. I'm sorry to even think that.
I care for you more than I care about justice for myself, and that makes me miserable.
Yet I can tell him none of that. If I'm going to let it go, that means I can never burden Beck with my knowledge, my memories, or my suspicions. I need to take him as is, and let him be oblivious to my darkest days.
That will be for the best.
So I vow to myself that this will be the last time I lie to him. "I tend to get blue around the holidays. Missing my mom, I guess."
He tilts his head, his blue eyes darkening in sorrow for me. "What can I do to help?"
I shrug, but then throw out a suggestion that I'm not sure will really make anything better for me, but might make him feel like he can help. "Maybe we could put up some of her decorations for Christmas. My dad has them boxed up for me."
"Of course we can do that," he says, and then pulls me into him. I bury my face in his neck and feel his warm skin against mine as we press together. "Where are the decorations?"
"At my dad's. We'd have to go get them."
"So I get to meet your dad, huh? Is he going to like me?"
"He's going to adore you," I assure him with a smile. My dad will utterly love him.
"Like you adore me?" he asks, his voice amused, but I also know this is a serious question.
"Not as much as I adore you, but it will be close," I assure him.
Then Beck's mouth is on mine, and I know he adores me too just by the ferocity of his kiss. Maybe he can't say it in words, but that's okay with me. I can read enough into his actions to know that Beck is on the same page as I am.
His hands come to the back of my bra and he flicks it open before pulling it from me. Then he's opening my jeans, pushing them down my hips and dropping to his knees before me. Fingers going under the elastic of my panties, he pulls them down enough to gain access and runs his tongue up my center. My knees threaten to buckle, but I'm saved when he wraps his arms around them, picks me up, and turns to deposit me on the bed.
In moments, he has the rest of our clothing off and he's climbing onto the mattress. I part my legs, welcome him against me. He lays his body flush against mine and kisses me, hands roaming up my rib cage, his cock swelling against my pelvis.
"You're so goddamn beautiful, Sela. Inside and out," he says, tracing a path with his lips down my neck, over my collarbone. His body inches down mine, blazing fiery trails of warm kisses over my breasts, down my stomach. With his hands to the backs of my thighs, he lifts my legs and brings them over his shoulders.
Beck's fingers dive into me as he gives my pussy a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss that sends shock waves of pleasure zinging through my body.
"Taste so goddamn good too," he mutters in between licks and sucks.
My neck arches and my hands go into his soft hair. "Beck."
"That's right," he praises me. "Say my name."
Lick.
Suck.
Plunge of fingers.
"Beck," I moan, crazed with lust and adoration for this man worshipping between my legs. "Please."
"What do you want, Sela?"
"I want to come," I plead with him.
He pulls his mouth from me for a moment and it causes me to raise my head to look down at him. He gives me a mischievous grin. "Want to come by my mouth or cock?"
I give him a salacious smile back. "Both."
&nb
sp; His teeth flash at me and he growls in appreciation. "Good fucking answer."
Beck then hits my clit hard, pursing his lips around it and sucking while he thrusts two fingers in and out of me. My pulse skyrockets, my hips gyrate in crazy circles attempting for more friction, and then he beats his tongue against me so hard and fast I splinter into a million fragments as my thighs tighten against his head while every muscle in my body trembles in release.
"O-o-o-o-h," I moan as the climax tears through me. "So good, Beck. So, so good."
I'm still trembling when Beck surges up my body, bringing my legs up high as they stay resting on his shoulders. My abdomen contracts inward as he folds me practically in half and then he's driving into me, bottoming out in one hard thrust.
"Goddamn," he grits out as he places both hands on the mattress for leverage. His eyes are glazed with lust but he manages to ask, "You okay?"
I nod, not really able to form coherent words of assent.
"Good, because I am going to fuck you so hard, Sela," he promises darkly as he starts pounding inside of me. "Going to come so deep in that pussy. Mark you as mine. It's my fucking pussy, you go that, baby? Mine."
His words thrill me. Dark, dirty, filthy words that speak to something deep inside of me. Knowing how turned on he is, how possessive of something that should only belong to me but truly doesn't. It's his to do with what he wants and he knows it.
It's purely ironic that after my rape, I always felt dirty...unworthy. It's why the barrier of a condom was more than a protection against pregnancy. It was a way for me to keep the dirt to myself and not taint another unsuspecting soul. While technically and from a purely health perspective, I'm as clean as they come, I always felt nasty when it comes to sex.
But not with Beck.
Not ever with Beck.
With every punch of his hips and every time his balls slap against my bottom, I feel whole and beautiful and completely worthy of what he's giving and taking.
Even as he's fucking me in this moment almost mindless with animalistic need, racing toward release the same as me, he makes me feel pure.
That's something I'm never giving up.
"Are you close?" Beck asks.
"Huh?" I groan as he tunnels deep into me.
"Close, baby. Are you close?"
"I think I am," I pant out as he continues to fuck me almost mercilessly.
"Need to know," he grunts. "Because I am and if you're not, I'm going to pull out and eat your pussy again."