In Control (The City Series) (16 page)

If his mother
was
lurking around the corner, she’d see me grabbing on to her sons ass as I kissed him with more pep than a cheerleading squad. I hoped she was.

Once Wren left to go unpack his own things, I was alone to do something I’m best at— inspect the room for family secrets. I looked through the bookshelves, examining the titles and seeing that they mostly revolved around art.
This must be where Wren’s father stays when he’s in the doghouse.

I walked into the closet, which lit up by itself as soon as I stepped in. One side was filled with cashmere bathrobes and one-piece bathing suits. The wall in front of me looked like a shrine to the Barney’s shoe department. Every type of shoe you could ever imagine sat pretty on top to bottom shelves. If Mrs. Kavanagh had to use this closet as extra storage, I couldn’t even imagine what her own closet had in it. I’m going to assume her closet
is
the actual Barney’s store.

There was an island in the middle of the room with more fresh peonies atop the counter. Among the flowers sat a collection of high-end clutches. Everything from Louis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabbana, and Kate Spade
neatly sat next to the other. I wondered if I were to take one, if Evelyn would even notice, but she probably had the maid move all of this stuff in here as a way of testing me. Could the black girl restrain herself from stealing all these luxuries? I didn’t actually think Mrs. Kavanagh was a racist, but I’d met women just like her. The ones that hold onto their purses a little tighter as you pass them on the street. The ones that see you in a store and immediately make eye contact with the security guard. She was the type that judged girls like me all because I wasn’t wearing Lanvin or Stella McCartney.

I wonder if Mrs. Kavanagh would have a heart attack if I told her that I’d once gotten a skirt from a homeless person. I saw it in her cart one morning and told her I’d buy her a bottle of vodka (the cheapest, of course) in exchange for it. For less than ten dollars, I was the new owner of a red leather skirt. What would really put her over the edge was knowing that her sweet son, Wren, ripped it off of me the first night we met.

“What are you doing in here?”

I swiftly turned around, startled by Wren’s voice. “Nothing!” I shrieked. “I was just looking for a place to put my things.”

Wren closed the closet door behind him and sauntered toward me, his face full of disbelief. When he reached me, he lifted my body up onto the island and guided his hands up my skirt.

“You know damn well there’s a dresser in the bedroom,” he murmured.

“I was just curious.” I struggled with my words, more focused on Wren’s hands climbing my skirt. His fingers held onto the edges of my lace underwear.

“Mmm hmm.”

The skepticism in his tone told me I wasn’t fooling anyone. Apparently it didn’t matter, because within seconds, my panties were dropping to the floor and his hands were cupping my ass. Wren’s tongue ran past my collarbone, up my neck, and stopped just short of my earlobe.

“Are we going to put on a show for your parents? They could walk in at any second.” I said as I began undoing Wren’s belt.

“Don’t worry. I locked the door,” he assured me, pulling my body to the very edge of the table.

“I wasn’t worried.”

Wren’s lips started moving again. This time, they weren’t anywhere near my neck. His tongue circled my cleavage as his hands pushed down my tank top to reveal my bra.

“Careful. Pretty soon I’m going to make you replace all of the pieces you rip,” I joked.

He threw my bra down and his mouth immediately covered my nipples. With each movement, my body became more dependent on his touch. As he worked on melting my insides with his tongue, I worked on unfastening his jeans and pushing down his boxer-briefs. With one quick motion, he filled me. I blindly pushed the vase full of flowers onto the carpet and leaned back on my hands.

Wren became more fervent, clutching at my hips and pulling my body closer; so close, I could feel the sweat puddle between our skin. I grasped onto his shoulder blades, trying with all my might to pull him closer somehow, fill me even more. My insides were twisting, my forehead was covered in sweat, and my entire body was begging for the seconds that had the power to unravel me.

I knew the moment was coming as I looked into Wren’s eyes. They were dark, almost black, exposing everything; his love for me, his need to have all of me, his desire to make me his. It was all there. In the seconds that followed, I
was
all his. My thoughts were consumed with spending my life with him. Allowing myself the pure ecstasy of what life had to offer and never looking back. Happiness occupied my heart, reaching the corners that were so remote, I was convinced they’d never be vacant again.

I matched Wren’s heavy breathing, bringing my hands up to his face and pulling him in for another kiss. I wanted to live on his lips. Build a house, raise a family, and someday die, all while cushioned against his skin. He bit my bottom lip and for a silent moment, we stared into each other’s eyes. His gaze weakened every elaborate structure I’d ever built around my heart, and within his eyes, I saw the scared little girl I used to be. I smiled, knowing that the girl I once was had grown into a strong woman. No longer was I afraid of everything, afraid of speaking up and being hurt for it. No longer did I need to protect my heart.

“What’re you smiling about?” Wren whispered as he kissed my cheeks playfully.

“You.” I pulled him in for a hug, resting my head lightly on his shoulder.

“What about me?”

“I’m happy I’m here,” I said.

I studied the wall of shoes, knowing I’d never be anything like Wren’s mother, but also knowing he was happy about that. Wren wasn’t the typical rich kid. He didn’t display his fortunes on his wrist or his body. He wore basic t-shirts; his watch cost him only twenty dollars. When people walked into his apartment and commented on his luxurious decor, he didn’t brag about it, he changed the subject. Even if he was a product of two
very
rich parents, he refused to let it define him.

Wren broke our embrace to look at me. His expression was of complete surprise, and he narrowed his eyes, waiting for me to elaborate on what I had said.

“What? I’m serious!” I lightly pushed him away, causing him to step on the glass vase that had fallen during our quickie.

“Fuck!” Wren screamed, holding his injured foot in his hand and trying his best to balance on one leg.

“Omg!” I jumped down, wishing I hadn’t taken my shoes off at the front door. I bent down to examine the vase and saw that only part of it had chipped off...and that small shard was now in Wren’s foot. “Baby, are you okay? How can I help?”

His breathing was heavy and his eyes were closed as he cradled his foot in his hand. Knocking on the closet door alerted us both that Wren’s mother was standing right outside. Being caught during sex was never something we cared about until today. First Porter and now his mother. I stifled a laugh, trying my best to hold in every sound so as to not be found out.

“It’s okay, Mom!” Wren called out.

“What are you doing in there? Is Kingsley in there?” Mrs. Kavanagh questioned, trying to turn the doorknob.

“Yes, I was helping her unpack,” he lied, trying to hold in his laughter. He continued standing on one leg, biting his lower lip to fight off the pain.

“Helping her unpack?” Mrs. Kavanagh’s voice told us she didn’t believe a word her son had told her. “Please unlock this door. There’s something I need in there.”

I looked from Wren to the door and I’m pretty sure my eyes were as big as a cartoon character’s.

“Mom, just one second!” Wren demanded.

His patience was waning, and I felt awful for pushing him. He tried maneuvering past the vase and onto a safe part of the carpet. There was an ottoman on one side of the island, and he slowly sat down, keeping his foot elevated. I kneeled down in front of him, carefully placing his heel on my leg.

“Careful!” he cried.

“I’m being careful!”

“Wren, can you please unlock this door right now!” Mrs. Kavanagh ordered.

“Mom, leave us alone!”

I closed my eyes and bit down on my tongue. This was not the right time to laugh out loud. I’m pretty sure if I had, Wren’s mother would insist I stay in the maid’s quarters.

“I know what you’re trying not to do right now, Kingsley,” Wren warned. “Stop it.”

Mrs. Kavanagh finally stopped trying to turn the doorknob, and once I was convinced she was gone, I stood up to get dressed, forgetting Wren’s foot was resting on me.

“Fuck! Kingsley!” he yelped.

“I’m sorry! I forgot!”

I really wanted to tell him to stop being such a baby. It was a tiny piece of glass, but he was acting like he’d just been shot. I inspected his foot, pressing down lightly on parts of his toe.

“Careful,” he hissed.

“If you keep telling me to be careful, I’m going to do the opposite.”

Wren glared at me, but continued scrutinizing my prodding. When I found the glass and tried squeezing it out, you’d have thought that Wren was going through labor. I shushed him, telling him to hold on to my shoulder if he needed to. After many seconds of listening to Wren cry for help, the glass was finally out. I almost expected him to cry out for his mother, and when he didn’t, I smiled, knowing that he wasn’t
that
kind of man.

“There,” I said, holding out the tiny shard in my hand. “Don’t ever say I never did anything for you.”

Wren shook his head and pulled me into him. “Thank you.”

Our kiss only lasted for five seconds. It’s all I would allow, because with him, a kiss could quickly turn into way more. “Your mother is waiting for us.”

Wren rolled his eyes and stood up, carefully testing his foot on the ground. “Good job, Nurse Kingsley. Next time, you should be in uniform.”

For three weeks, I’d been telling the Hendersons that I’d been tutoring younger kids at the library. The lie was able to get me out of the house by 7:30 each morning, and I wouldn’t return until six. Now, my morning meals consisted of breakfast foods I’d never thought I’d be able to try—eggs, pancakes drizzled with sweet maple syrup, crispy bacon and hash browns so good, I could have them for every meal. Eating with the Hennings every morning was like something out of a fairytale. They talked to each other at the table—about everything—without yelling. Porter and I sat side by side, and sometimes he’d reach under the table and hold my hand.

This morning, as I was sitting in my seat, as Porter called it, Mr. Henning was telling us all a funny story. As I listened, my gaze fell on each of their faces. Porter’s mother was laughing along, patting Mr. Henning’s back as he told his story. Porter focused all of his attention on his father, the look of adoration in his eyes so evident. For once, I felt like I was a part of something. Rather than ignoring me, which is what I was used to, Porter’s family engaged me into their conversations each day. They always asked me my opinion on things I had no clue about, like what I thought of the latest blockbuster or how I felt about Broadway musicals, but I tried giving my opinion without giving away the fact that my life experience was limited.
This family actually
liked
having me around.

“And then I said, well if you’d like, when I remove your father’s yucky liver, we can keep it in a jar for your nightstand!” Mr. Henning recounted, laughing.

“Christopher, I’m sure the kids don’t need to hear that!” Mrs. Henning scolded.

Porter continued laughing along with his father, while I pictured what a
yucky liver
must look like. I imagined it looking like a piece of overcooked steak, and I must have displayed my repulsion because Mr. Henning asked me why my face suddenly turned green.

“Did I upset you, Kingsley?” he asked with a look of concern.

“Oh,” I said, shaking my head. “No, sorry. I was actually just imagining a piece of overcooked meat and it sort of grossed me out.”

My comment almost made Mrs. Henning spit her orange juice out. She slapped her hand over her mouth almost immediately, her eyes glossing over from restraint. Porter leaned in toward me, laughing harder after seeing the display his mother had made.

“Oh wow, Kingsley. You have quite an imagination!” she exclaimed, wiping off her mouth with the napkin from her lap.

“All right, time for me to head off.” Mr. Henning stood from his chair, placing his napkin on the table. “Pretty soon, you two will be back at school. Only a little over a month until you’re freshmen!”

Porter and I looked at each other and grinned. His smile showed that he was excited. Mine showed that I was afraid. Just the thought of entering high school made me feel sick to my stomach. My classes would be bigger. There would be more kids ignoring me and doing everything they could to avoid getting me as a partner. The thing that made me the most anxious was lunch time. I wouldn’t be able to eat with Mrs. Wilkinson anymore. I wasn’t sure if I’d get lucky enough to have the same lunch period as Porter, and even if I was, I didn’t know if he’d even want me around.

“Aren’t you looking forward to it, Kingsley?” Mrs. Henning’s voice broke into my thoughts and they all stared at me, waiting for me to answer.