Hour by Hour (Games & Diversions #2) (11 page)

I watch him retreat up the stairs in his black, immaculate-fitting slacks, wanting to follow him—knowing that he will take a shower, same as me.

Wishing I had the balls to join him.

Better yet… where’s that steel-set vagina when I need one?

He never looks back at me, and I rotate on my heel towards the hallway, heading straight to the bathroom before I can change my mind.

***

LUKAS

My “quick shower” upstairs doesn’t last the five minutes I intended; it lasts for
twenty.

I’m tempted to stay in even longer. I might even make it through… but
my skin sure as hell won’t
.

Not when I’m blasting it with several pounds of scalding hot water.

I let the water jets beat incessantly on my skin while I stand under the glass-encased showerhead.

I lean my hands against the black marble backdrop while the soaking streams assault me.

I must admit: The whipping feels good on my back and shoulders.

Each lash is like an act of attrition—a form of punishment for all the things that I’ve
done
,
am
doing, and will
continue
to do.

I’m going against my best friend’s wishes. And I’m doing it
right
under his nose.

As soon as I’m out of the water, I stand, dripping in the middle of my bathroom floor, letting the pain soak in—welcoming the welts and reddened skin. Absorbing the abuse and accepting all of its penance.

I feel
wrong—
and
so fucking
right
.

I don’t know how much of an innocent Elena was before she got with me. And I didn’t
care
to know—I didn’t care to
care.

But something has shifted.

There’s a sort of respect that she commands—a deference that she doesn’t ask for, but
takes
.

She’s smart… and witty. Astute as all hell.

Beautiful
.

It’s these things that draw me to her—that make the crumbs of time I share with her not enough. It’s more than making her a part of my world.

I suddenly feel the urge to become a part of
hers
.

And regardless of how we started out on the wrong foot, we just seem to fit together. Nothing has felt as natural as it does when I fit myself inside the confines of her body.

But we all know how this will turn out
.
Look at Trina.

What was once a beautiful, diffident girl is now a drugged-out, spaced-out former shell of herself—a prom princess turned semi-
psychopath
.

It makes me think.

Could this happen to Elena?
Would
this happen to Elena?

I can’t deny…

I am the man that young girls’ fathers warned them about.

I’ve made women want things they didn’t know they wanted. Made them crave me more than any drug.

But then I discarded them.

When I was finished. When I was fulfilled. When I was
bored
.

Is this what Foxx was thinking when he warned me to stay away? And now that I’ve had her… touched her…
tasted
her… can I?

I wipe the steam away from the mirror, watching myself amidst the fog. My eyes say “tell her everything”; my scowl says “don’t do it.”

I can’t even trust my own face to give me the answers I need.

I secure a towel loosely on my hips, sulking slowly over to my black dresser where I remove my favorite flannel pants.

I shift them completely over my legs and start to slide into a plain white T, when a noise from outside of the room catches my attention.

It’s soft, melodic. I think those are voices.

Wait… is that
music?

I toss the shirt to the side and tread quietly down the stairs, in search of the source. I’m halfway down when I realize that it’s the sound of a piano playing.

I hit the bottom stair, crossing over carpet towards the den. I look over at my large black grand piano, but there’s no one there.

When I glance quickly to my left, I find the culprit. My surround-sound stereo is on. It’s playing Clair de Lune.

The music isn’t loud, but it’s
everywhere
, infiltrating the air with a tune that is rich and sweet—a melody that sounds the way that honey tastes.

I’d almost forgotten how beautiful this song is.

But what’s even better than the melody is the woman dancing to it.

Her blonde hair tickles her shoulders in slightly damp waves as she pirouettes barefooted across my hardwood floor.

She kicks a leg high above her head, revealing smooth skin and taut muscle below her perfect ass. Her slender leg lands on the hardwood, sliding into a split before she glides across the floor and into a sitting position.

She is graceful… even when draped in the large, white button-down shirt she must have borrowed from my drawers.

Fuck. Me
. She looks better in my shirt than I
ever
could.

It completely swallows her lissome figure, but she never misses a beat.

I watch her silently as she swings through the air on a crescendo.

I amble aimlessly towards the grand piano, letting my suddenly wayward legs lead the way. I don’t even realize what my body is doing until the sound of the piano fills my ears.

The blonde woman freezes, staring across the room at the bare-chested man playing on the piano keys. I can tell she doesn’t recognize him.

He doesn’t recognize
her
.

They are two strangers—truly discovering each other for the first time, uncovering one another’s charades and baring witness to the faces that lie beyond them.

The bare-chested man in the room continues to play the melody to Clair de Lune, and the blonde woman starts to dance again. She swings, dips and writhes to the music, her body mimicking poetry in motion.

The notes of the piano swing her ‘round and ‘round, twirling her across the floor—erasing the air of façade in the room, dropping all of the previous pretenses.

It’s a conversation without words.

With each cadence, they learn another lesson about each other. With each beat, they grow more familiar with themselves.

Until, finally, the piano-playing man turns into Griff, and the blonde bombshell becomes Elena again.

The last note is bittersweet; the song ends, and she bows low to the floor.

When she stands once more to face me—
to meet the Griff she’s never known until now
—I am ready.

“So, you’re a dancer…” I say. The words are more a statement than a question.

She nods silently. “So, you play…”

My voice is serious. “
Many
things…”

She almost smiles.

“I believe that.”

She leans against the piano, regarding me closely. My eyes take in the oversized dress shirt on her body. It is barely buttoned at her waist, exaggerating her curvaceous shape.

Peach and cream-colored skin peek from the opening of fabric between her breasts. I sit almost eye-level with them, and I try desperately to keep my eyes on the keys at my hands and not on her.

I fail—
miserably
.

I lightly tap the keys in front of me.

“Mind if I play something for you?”

Her blue eyes sparkle for a second at me, and she stands up straighter.

“Sure.”

I invite her to take a seat atop the piano, lifting her easily in the air. She slides her bottom smoothly on its surface while the first few notes start to float from my fingers.

And then we talk.

We talk until damn near daybreak.

About politics and sex—religion and economics.

We pit “Homeland” against “House of Cards”, Florida Georgia Line versus Ed Sheeran.

I criticize her taste in wine as much as she picks apart my preference for vodka.

And despite these differences…

I find that we have more in common than we don’t—that we agree on
more
than just
how much of a dick I am
.

We both consider NASCAR-Sundays a national holiday, and Chick-Fil-A is its own main food group, as far as we are concerned.

I surprise myself with how much I enjoy making her laugh. I like the
sound
of her laughter.

I like it a lot…

We run the entire gamut—everything we can think of.

And I start to imagine a world—a world in which I can tell Elena
everything
, in which I can give her the pieces.

All
the pieces of me.

The pieces I’d thought I’d lost and the pieces I’d never wanted to find.

In
that
world, I would be able tell her about my life.

I’d tell her about an alcoholic father who couldn’t keep his hands to himself—about a self-absorbed mother who couldn’t find it in her to care.

Years of foster care homes and different schools. Strings of lonely nights in corners, reading books…

Until a frustrated and curious pre-teen wandered over to a rich neighborhood in which he didn’t belong.

Until two frolicking boys befriended this kid from the wrong side of the tracks.

I’d tell her that they helped this boy to cope, that they hid him in the recesses of their mansions. And when the boy slipped up and repeated the habits of his parents, they’d nurtured him back to normal.

I’d tell her that when that boy read and learned enough to create his own company, he guided those rich friends of his, shared his business savvy with them—until one day they were confident enough to start their own business—
with him
.

I would show her how, together, they called that new business,
Tripping Out!

And with each ballad, with each bridge that I’d play on the piano, I would pour my story into her hands and let the words flow as easily as the music.

I would give it
all
to Elena.

But I don’t.

There are certain things that I keep to myself—things that are better left unsaid.

I don’t give her my life… nor do I give her the information about the note on my car… or Gregory Sears… or the hack.

In fact, I give her what the people I know have given me…

Nothing.

Foxx and Chris are the exceptions, not the
rule,
and with the exclusion of those two—the only
real
brothers I’ve ever had—no one else ever gave a shit.

So, I’ve given the people I’ve met even less than that.

And I do admit: the infatuation with Elena
is
new… but like all other things, it will fade. It will transition in and out of my life like everything else has, leaving nothing in its wake.

And I’ve learned to be ok with that.

I allow myself to have tonight with her, knowing it will not last.

I allow my music to say all of things that I can’t, serenading Elena with soft, haunting melodies until at last, she goes to sleep.

If I lost all, at least I would have played for it. It had always been my philosophy that one must play, or be a loser two-fold.”
― Anna Freeman

ELENA

I wake up to what I thought would be a morning sun.

Instead of light, a sheer blackness greets me as I stir, the intensity and depth of the black somehow even deeper than my closed eyelids.

I turn over, and where I expect to find polished wood, I find cotton and silk, down-filled cushions that sink around my tired limbs.

I’m in a bed now—no longer splayed out on the piano surface. And the windows that surround me in this room are blackened out, blinded on every inch.

The bed is gigantic with sheets as black as the windows. The goose-down pillows are stark white and softer than an angel’s ass.

I start to sit up until a voice from beside me speaks.

“Good morning.”

The words are half-moan, half-growl, and they rumble from the other side of the bed—low and seductive—making me shudder.

I bolt upright… and find Lukas lying next to me.

In the darkness, I can still make out his bare chest and torso, his muscular arms and shoulders framing his beautiful face as he stretches his hands behind his tousled head.

His voice is gruff; his grin is lopsided. And I have to bite my lower lip to keep it from quivering.

I finally speak, laughing.

“Morning? You call
this
morning?” I say, motioning to the dark around us.

He moans softly. “Oh, yeah. I keep my windows blacked out on the weekends. It lets me get the rest I need.”

My eyes wander to the “V” below his torso.

“Knowing you,” I quip, “it’s safe to say that this bed doesn’t see much rest at all.”

“As a matter of fact, that’s
all
this bed has seen since you’ve come around.”

The statement gives me pause. I think about the busty redhead at the restaurant.

“And what about your date?”

He stares piercingly at me. “What about yours?”

“She doesn’t seem to swing that way, if you know what I mean…”

Now, he sits upright. “
She
?”

I bow my head to cover my blush.
As if he could see it anyway.

“Yeah, she. My, uh,
date
last night… was my realtor.”

“Well, this just got a
hell
of a lot more interesting.”

I laugh, pulling Lukas’s shirt tighter on my shoulders.

“It wasn’t really a date. More like an appointment. I embellished.” I shrug. “I didn’t know you’d be in the restaurant.”

“I wish I had paid more attention.” He smiles, but his white teeth are all that show amidst the black air.

He inches closer to me.

“The realtor’s for a house?” he asks.

I turn to him, finally getting excited after seven days of being in a slump.

“Not this time, actually. You see, I’m using her for…”

But the words cut off abruptly, and I bite down on my tongue so hard that it actually hurts.
What do I think I’m doing?

Sharing my life with Lukas? Sleeping in his bed?

We’re not
friends
… and we never will be. With what I know about Lukas, he doesn’t
do
friendships… not with anyone but Chris and Foxx.

And the best relationship he can maintain with a woman is keeping her on his ever-revolving wheel of lovers.

Until he finally tires of her and throws her off.

I need to be careful.
I won’t let that be me.

I roll towards the edge of the bed, planting my feet on the lush carpet beneath. I round the humongous mattress, crossing my arms and standing firmly before Lukas.

He leans back into his pillow, regarding me closely.

“I know you’re dead set against this… but I think I we need to set some ground rules, Luke.”

I fasten the shirt buttons around my breasts, growing more austere.

“It looks like we’re really going to do this. See each other.
Fuck
each other until we’re… what did you call it?
Out of one another’s systems...?”

He nods.

“Then I’m on board,” I declare. “But we need to have an agreement—
a spoken one
—from here on out.”

“So, if you want to play nice…”

“I’ve
never
said,” he interrupts, “that I’m a nice guy, Elena…”

His statement steals my breath, and I stand there, dumbfounded. He continues speaking, sitting up slowly in the bed.

He raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never pretended to be.

“
Fucking you senseless
works for me… and I plan to keep doing it until it doesn’t.

“I’ve been clear with the women I’ve been with. Some got it;
some didn’t
.

“But what you need to understand is that this is
fucking
, and that’s all it will ever be.

“And if you’re not ok with that, then
get out of this now
.”

He motions toward the opening in the wall.

“You can walk right out that door… and pretend this never happened. Because I have to warn you, Elena—that’s
exactly
what I plan to do when this is over.”

I stare at Lukas openly, fixing my eyes on his face. The light that was in his eyes last night has gone dim, and I see the version of him that I knew was there… but decided to ignore.

He climbs his way off of the bed, making his way over to me. His movements are languid, his stride confident. His stature is long and built; he leans over me when he reaches me.

“That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy you, Elena…
because I do
. I enjoy all of you. Every
inch
of you,” he nearly whispers.

“But I’m only capable of so much. I don’t know if I am who you think I am.” He stares into my eyes, his own irises seemingly black amidst the darkness of the room.

He brushes a hand in the hair at my ear, and I almost tremble. His green eyes are so empty in this blackened space.

They are blank. Hollow.
Soulless
.

But I know he’s
not
soulless. I’ve seen his soul, seen his passion—even if it was only glimpses.

A new sun has arisen, and, with it, a new Lukas has emerged. A
different
Lukas.

A
guarded
Lukas.

So, where’s the man from last night?
Who
is this man that stands before me?

I don’t know... so I tell him so.

“I’m going to be honest, Lukas… I’m not sure
who
you are.”

He drops the hand near my face, replacing it at his side.

“Good.
Trust me.
It’s better that way.”

His shoulders slump by the slightest fraction, but he holds steady. Surprisingly, he leans in to kiss my forehead, and I let him.

My mind runs a recap when his cool lips touch me.

A physical relationship with Lukas. Mind-blowing, meaningless sex.
It sounds so perfect.

This is what I was prepared for—what I
thought
I wanted.

So, why does it hurt so much?

As if he can hear the cracks in my armor, I back away from him.  I mumble something about brushing my teeth and retreat to the confines of his extravagant bathroom.

In there, I regroup, staring at the stubborn, blue-eyed blonde in the mirror.

Confusion shines back from her ice-blue eyes.

Don’t think,
I tell the woman in the mirror.
Just
do
.

Fuck him on every feasible surface in this big, beautiful house. Christen each countertop with your hard and fast love-making.

I take a deep breath, feeling suddenly burdened by the weight of the shirt on my shoulders.

The butterfly that was in my stomach when Lukas touched me sinks to my pelvis, and I have to double over the sink.

Because that’s just it; that’s my problem.

Lukas and I
fuck
. We
don’t
make love. And if what he says about himself is true,
we never will
.

I feel a tightening in my chest, but before the squeeze can crush me, a knock sounds at the door.

A velvety voice calls out.

“Elena, there’s a mail carrier at my gate. This should only take a second. Make yourself comfortable. Anything you want in this house is yours.”

Except you.

I don’t say it—
can’t
say it. Instead I remain silent and listen closely as the sound of Lukas’s footsteps fade into the distance.

Maybe another shower will clear my head.

I sigh heavily, dropping Lukas’s top at my feet, and turn on the huge faucet. I step gingerly into the water stream.

Hot water cascades above my head onto my naked skin.

I close my eyes.

Suddenly, a strong arm sticks its way into the glass shower, pulling me roughly out of its doors.

I stumble, dripping wet, out onto the bathroom floor, feeling the strength of the hands before actually seeing them.

They belong to a steel-faced Lukas. He’s still naked above the waist, his green eyes blazing into mine.

His solid arms and torso are stone-perfection, and his shoulders bunch as he tugs my body into his.

My breasts slip against his immovable chest as he crushes his lips to mine and kisses me long and hard, his muscular thighs trapping me against the bathroom counter.

His hands sink below my ass, and they lift me, placing me squarely on the marble surface, where his thick erection prods from beneath his pants and to my center.

He steps away, dropping his pants before returning to my side, where he places my lips back onto his mouth, sucking and biting firmly on my lips and tongue.

He pulls back briefly, penetrating me with a molten stare, his dark eyelashes prominent and contrasting against the emerald in his eyes.

“I
had
to have you,” he rumbles. “
I couldn’t wait.”

I return his look, letting my eyes give him all the affirmation he could ever need.

“Then
have me
.”

At that, he bites into my neck, slamming his erection directly into my soaking pussy. We groan simultaneously as my body gives way to fit him perfectly.

Lukas grows still inside of me for the briefest of seconds… and then he moves.

His motion is relentless, and he builds up a rhythm that is hypnotizing and intoxicating, taking me to a plane of pleasure beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.

His one large hand clutches my ass while the other snakes between us, strumming methodically at my clit, as he takes me on a ride like none other.

He tilts me backward towards the mirror and I come, crying out so loudly that I worry the glass will shatter around me.

Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad idea.
At least, it would take me out of my misery…

The sweet, indescribable misery of wanting a man who is capable of giving me everything—and
knowing
that he never really will. A man who can give me everything I want, but nothing I truly need.

I grab for his face, looking to find my answers there, but when I lift it towards me, the face is blank—the eyes are pitch black, and the scream I let out shatters the glass completely this time.