Breaking All the Rules (7 page)

He wobbled as he lay beside her. Mia was hyper aware of her heartbeat. It thumped wildly inside her. She thought it was going to jump out of her chest and nestle itself in the pocket of Benson’s jeans and be lost forever. Though, she admitted to herself, he didn’t have to carry her heart in his pocket to possess it. She closed her eyes to avoid the tears that were welling to the surface. Within moments, she slipped into an exhausted sleep.

She woke to a cold cloth running along her thighs. Shivering, she fluttered her eyes open. Benson was standing over her in his boxers cleaning the mess of the evening off her body. Illuminated by the moonlight drifting through a window, the tenderness of the act wasn’t lost upon Mia. She stayed quiet and let herself get lost in the affection. She pretended Benson Ward cared for her. She pretended he wanted her for more than just sex.

“Sorry to wake you, precious.”

His low voice made her insides warm. She cursed at her budding arousal and sat up before Benson could tell. Her body was too drained to have any more orgasms, not that she didn’t want them. If she wasn’t afraid of slipping into an orgasm induced coma she would let Benson take her all night long. He pushed her past the brink and into the icy waters and then pulled her back up into his arms like it was second nature. For a guy like Benson, it probably was.

Benson watched her sleep longer than he wanted to admit. Her body, covered with sweat and wrung out to dry, was marvelous. Though he had just had her, he wanted more. Possessing her hadn’t lessened her hold on him. Instead, he wanted her more. He never wanted to go without the taste of her sweet pussy or the sight of her passionate eyes. Mia had taken him in more than one way. He had gotten out of bed quickly, afraid of his realization, afraid of being too close to her. He wanted to run out of her studio and never look back.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Mia’s voice lacked emotion, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t think it’d be smart for me to stay.”

Mia turned quickly and pulled the blanket up to her neck so he didn’t see her quiver. He didn’t have to see it to know that she was upset. She had given herself to him fully more than an hour prior but was now retreating back inside herself. All the possession he held over her, the fire in his eyes when he saw Aaron- were they all just a ploy to get her in bed? She knew Benson Ward didn’t care about anyone other than himself, but she let herself go on for days thinking he did. He was rich, powerful, and the most handsome man in the entire world. He didn’t need to share a bed with a woman. He needed a good, hard, sweaty fuck. She had given it to him.

Benson wanted to climb back into bed with her. He wanted to feel her sleepy breath against his chest. He wanted to smell the sweetness of her hair when he woke up with her cradled by his side. Mia was his weak spot. She was powerful and driven carrying a near deadly air of sex appeal around her everywhere she went, yet she managed to be so soft and sweet, so vulnerable. He had failed to see that before he met her at Pluto Lounge. It took a dirty washed up piece of scum harassing her for him to finally see it. He’d nearly broken the glass in his hand when he narrowed in on them from across the room. Mia was his, but he wasn’t sure if he could ever have her the way he wanted. Her body rose and fell with silent sobs she prayed he didn’t see. He did, though he tightened his jaw and ignored them, pulling on the rest of his clothes and disappearing through the door with a thunderous click behind him.

Chapter Four

Lora had a tiny apartment close to NYU. She hated commuting, something that always amused Mia. When they had first met, she told Lora she was in the wrong city. New York was nothing but commutes and traffic. Lora had looked back at her with bright eyes and a glimmer of magic and told her dreams were made of places like New York City. Dreams were made there, but nightmares dwelled in the dark alleys and busy streets, too. Mia knew those nightmares well.

Snapping back to reality, Mia focused her attention on the mother daughter duo on the other side of the short bar. Much like Mia’s studio, Lora’s apartment had an island seating area. Lora utilized it, opting out of a dining room table so she could fit a large desk flanked by bookshelves in her living room. The shelves were full of heavy textbooks and history, and her desk was never without a hefty stack of papers. Unlike Mia’s organized loft, Lora’s place was a chaotic display of warmth. Her couch was cozy; wearing a spare blanket and a few pillows she kept for when she had overnight visitors. Her coffee table was cluttered with mugs and notepads scribbled with dark ink. A chocolate papasan chair near her television was never available, her orange tabby cat always curled up in its depths. Her bedroom wasn’t much different from the main living area. Clothes were spewed across the floor in piles waiting to be hung. Mia was grateful that she kept her bathroom clean and organized at least most of the time.

Lora looked just like her mother. Mia wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen Mrs. Tate without her hair pulled into a ponytail or her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She was plumper than Lora, her large hips always swaying as she laughed. Mrs. Tate took a Greyhound from small town Pennsylvania to New York City twice a year to see Lora. On Christmas and Thanksgiving, Mia and Lora piled into the barely used car below Mia’s apartment and made the journey themselves. Growing up in such a violent home, Mia welcomed the hospitality.

She didn’t keep in touch with her family. She had warned her mother from the steps of the bus that if she didn’t leave her second-husband she’d never see her daughter again. Her mom let her go. Mia’s younger brother by two years, Edmund, grew to be a cop in Hartford, an hour’s drive from their hometown. Every so often he’d send Mia a text or try to call. Sometimes she answered. He kept close tabs on their mother, watching for bruises and trying to coax her to press charges against her husband. It never worked. Their mother was a coward. She took the beatings and didn’t bat an eye when her new husband took to hurting her children, hurting Mia with more than just his fists.

“You’re spacey, Mia,” Lora looked over her shoulder. “Don’t try to tell me it’s still a hangover, either. See, mom, I told you she was acting weird.”

Mia shot her friend a dirty look, “I’m fine. It was a long night.”

“You haven’t withdrawn like this in years. I’m worried.”

“I ran into Aaron last night,” Mia bit out.

Lora gasped, “Shit!”

“Watch your mouth,” Mrs. Tate scolded. “Who is Aaron? An ex-boyfriend?”

“Something like that,” Mia shifted uneasily in her seat, not wanting to let the closest thing she had to a mother know the depths of her past. “He’s the one that messed me up when I got to the city. I honestly didn’t think he’d still be alive.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Tate’s eyebrows were bunched together with concern. “Did he hurt you?”

“He tried. Benson stopped him.”

“Ah-ha!” Lora nearly jumped. “Your sour mood is because of Benson, isn’t it?”

“My mood is because Aaron grabbed me and told me I was a worthless slut and then Benson took me home and proved his point.” She looked over at Mrs. Tate. “I’m sorry.”

She held her hands up, “It takes more than that to offend me.”

“Just hold the presses!” Lora wedged her way in front of Mia. “Start from the beginning.”

“I was born on a rainy Thursday evening-”

Mrs. Tate chuckled while Lora rolled her eyes, “Seriously, Mia. How could you not tell me Benson Ward was going to be at the show? And why?”

“Benson Ward?” Mrs. Tate perked up. “The same Benson Ward from that Forbes list?”

“Yes,” Mia and Lora both shot gruffly at the woman, who once again raised her hands and sunk into the counter to watch the unfolding fight.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it would be a big deal, Lora. I just have a crush on the guy-”

“It’s more than a crush. You are wild about that man.”

“He signed Burnside on opening night of his venue without even listening to them. I honestly wanted him to hear them. But he showed up and he is just so
perfect
I couldn’t help but melt into him. He just looks at me and I’m flustered. I went to the bathroom, and on my way back, Aaron was standing there. Waiting for me like the plague.”

“He’s so sleazy,” Lora shivered. “Have you seen him since the hospital?”

Mia looked at Mrs. Tate, ashamed. Lora had called her mom that night, frantic and afraid, after finding both Aaron and Mia unresponsive. Aaron had overdosed on some concoction of drugs and Mia had drunk herself into a stupor that resulted in getting her stomach pumped. When she was released from the hospital, Mia cut all ties with Aaron and anyone associated with him. She was reckless, but she recognized the slippery slope she was running down. Even though the Tate family accepted Mia, she always felt like they were embarrassed of her past. She felt like a charity case.

“No,” She finally answered. “You pulled me out of that scene pretty quickly. I can’t believe he was there. I can’t believe he still shakes me up like that.”

“Shakes you up, as in, you’re still attracted to him?” Lora gawked.

“No!” Mia drew back; horrified her friend would even consider that. “As in he makes me skin crawl in unhealthy ways. He makes me want feel so unworthy of life. I look at him and I think of how terrible I was and when he looks back, I feel like I’m that 19 year old broken mess who deserves to be walked on. He is a predator, and all these years later I’m still trying to regain my strength from him.”

“I’m so sorry, Mia,” Mrs. Tate wiped her hands on a towel and crossed over to hug her. She rubbed comforting circles in her back. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you would recognize 19 year old you if you looked back. You’ve changed. You’re stronger.”

“Mom’s right,” Lora nodded. “You’re better now.”

“I don’t feel better,” Mia sniffled, embarrassed by her tears. “How can someone drain you of life so quickly? And then Benson was there. He was ready to beat Aaron into the floor. I had him take me home, but I was so empty and needy that I invited him in. He left after. He woke me up getting around, and then he left.”

Mia would spare them the details. She had propositioned Benson. She wanted him way before the whole ordeal at Pluto Lounge. But she was searching for an excuse for the throbbing hole in her heart. She didn’t tell them that there was something more between the two. She didn’t tell them how he inhabited every part of her body, mind, and soul… how the touch of his fingers were still hot on her skin hours later. He hadn’t just fucked her and left. He’d cared for her, tended to her, and then walked out. He made her break her rules and then didn’t stay to fix the mess. She woke in a bed still damp from her orgasms, a grimy sex toy on the ground and her clothes in a messy pile. The evidence was still there. It hurt her too much to think about him.

“Why do I feel this way when I barely know him?” Mia wiped her wet eyes on the bottom of her tee shirt. “I can’t control this and it freaks me out.”

“You can’t control emotions,” Mrs. Tate said from the fridge. “How are you out of wine, Lora?”

“There’s some beer in the bottom drawer,” Lora tossed at her mother before turning back to Mia. “Mom’s right. Benson is devilishly handsome, wealthy, powerful-”

“Stop,” Mia pushed away from the counter and hopped off the barstool. “I have managed my emotions for five years. Even with Grant, I kept control.”

“You had no control over Grant,” Lora retorted. “You loved him from the sidelines, Mia. You didn’t get too close to any part of Grant, that’s how you walked away so easy.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know how Grant and I felt for each other.”

“I know you thought you’d get married to him. I know you were so reserved with him it was almost like you were another person. I know you put up with the random chicks and parties.”

“Until I saw him with coke, then I left. I had control over it. It was painless.”

Mrs. Tate fished out a few loose beers from the drawer, passing one to Mia and one to Lora. She recognized the fight was personal for the two and turned her attention back to the home cooked chicken and noodles she was making, Mia’s favorite Tate dish.

“Like Hell it was! You cried for two weeks straight when you left Grant. You may have had the strength to not go back-” She took one look at Mia’s face and let out a flabbergasted sigh. “You went back to Grant?”

“We’ve slept together a few times since we split.”

“You have
no
control, Mia. None whatsoever!”

Mia was already finished with her beer. She craved another. She needed to cloud the mess in her mind and put it off for as long as possible. Lora was right. Mia had no control. She liked to think she did. She liked to think that being punctual and organized, aware of her sexuality and headstrong, gave her control over her life. In the end, she was still the broken teenager from Connecticut.

Mrs. Tate, unable to standby while her adopted daughter quivered with self-realization, fear, and a broken heart, stepped in delicately, “Mia, sweetie, have you considered going back to therapy?”

“I can’t,” She shook her head. “Therapy makes it worse.”

“You need help, Mia,” Lora chimed in.

“I fixed myself before, I can do it again,” Mia said, trying exhaustively to end the discussion. “Will dinner be done soon?”

Dinner was quiet and somber. Mia avoided the small talk Mrs. Tate was trying to engage in to alleviate the tension. It didn’t work. She left with a full plastic bowl of leftovers. The home cooked food always made her feel warm and happy. She stalked down the block and a half it took to get from Lora’s to her own place cradling the bowl like it were a child. She should’ve known that it would get knocked out of her hands, splashing onto her shirt before falling to the dirty concrete of the street. Mia stared at the mess on the ground, immune to the few snickers of passerby’s.