Pushing Limits
Authors: Kali Cross
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Romantic Comedy, #New Adult & College
Pushing Limits, Fighting Love, Book One
Copyright © January 2014 by kali cross
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the
original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be
reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or
encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
Purchase only authorized editions.
Editor: Brittney Coon
Cover Art: James Miller
Published in the United States of America
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might
be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, places,
and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult
language. It is for sale to adults only and is meant for mature
audiences, as defined by the laws of the country in which you have made your
purchase. Please store your files properly, where they cannot be accessed
by under-aged readers.
Coming Soon
:
Pushing
Boundaries
Fighting
Love: Book 2
To my inspiration for Amber: Miley Cyrus.
Keep on being you, exploring who you are, and to
anybody who doesn’t like it, fuck ‘em.
I find your courage inspiring.
You go, girl!!!
To my
loving husband, thank you for your endless patience and loving
support. I love you with all of my heart, forever and ever.
To my sweet daughter, dare to dream, my love. Your dreams will
never become reality if you never try.
To my
fellow writer and editor, Brittney Coon. I can never thank you enough for
your advice, guidance, and hard work. This book is better because you had
a hand in it. You have been an exceptional mentor and a good
friend. Thank you for talking me off the ledge when I needed it and for
your constant encouragement.
To my
dear friend and fellow writer, Beth Mikell. Thank you for your
unfailing support and endless inspiration. I will always be grateful that
our paths crossed.
To my
Critique Partner, Jasmine Sheffield, thank you for all your help and hard
work. It was greatly appreciated.
Special
thanks to Siobhan and Dani, my Beta readers. Thank you so much!
To
Susan Marin, thank you for starting me on this wonderful journey. I wish
you only love, happiness, and joy. Peace, my friend.
-
kali
cross
Contents
“Oh my God, Amber! What the hell are you
doing?” My mother shrieks. Her focus zeroes in on me - my shirt open to
the waist, Logan’s hand on my breast. Logan snatches his hand away,
twisting his bare chest around as he pinches out the joint in his other hand.
Her face turns white as she sniffs the air. Her eyes widen.
“My God, have you been smoking pot in here?"
"Fuck, Mom! Don't you ever
knock?" I say, scrambling madly to fasten my bra and button my
shirt. I glance over at Logan as he grabs his t-shirt, jerking it over
his head. My mother’s mouth gapes open and her brown eyes dart back and
forth between Logan and me.
“Get out!” She squeezes her eyes shut,
placing her hands up. “Larry...Logan...whatever your name is...Get
out.” She stares at him with a lethal glare. “Get out of my house
before I call the cops!”
“I’m outta here, Chica.” Reaching for his cell
phone, he shoves it in his pocket before sliding past my mother and walking
down the hall.
Gliding my foot along the floorboards, I nudge
a small bag of pot under my bed. “I thought you were going out for the
night, Mother,” I say dryly.
"Classy, Amber! Really classy.
My God, what were you thinking?” Her voice seethes with anger
and
utter disappointment.
I hear that lovely tone all too often.
It’s the sound I hear whenever I upset the delicate balance that is my mother’s
life….which is often. It’s in the recriminations I hear telling me,
literally, that I have, once again, fallen short of her expectations.
It’s in her every comment to me that I never fucking measure up. Any
involvement in my life on her part is a major inconvenience. One she
usually delegates to the household staff. Oh, but the snide remarks, she
saves those jewels for herself, doling them out without hesitation.
“Oh, I don’t know….I was thinking I’m a
nineteen-year-old adult, and can have whomever I want in my room. I’m so
sorry, Mother,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Did I ruin your
day?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “Don’t
you get smart with me, young
lady.
” She
grimaces, her face full of disgust. “And, frankly, considering how I
found you, I use the term ‘lady’ lightly.”
I sigh. “We were just fooling
around. It’s really no big deal.” I smirk at her saying,
“What? Geez, you are the very definition of uptight.” I roll my eyes and
shrug, picking up my phone to scan the display. “Besides, I didn’t think
you were coming home until later.” My face turns back to her as I tighten my
lips and raise my chin. “It’s none of your business anyway. If you
could learn to knock, this episode could have been avoided, and we could
continue ignoring each other.”
“This is my house.” Her voice is coarse and her
eyes narrow. “Don’t forget it.” Her eyes widen as she searches my
face. “Oh my God, so help me if you are pregnant....Oh, my God what will
people say?” Her face pales as her hand covers her mouth, and her eyes
dart back and forth. “If the media finds out, I’ll never recover.
My God, do I need to get a Plan B pill for you? How could you do this to
me? I’ll never live it down if you are pregnant."
I curl my lips into a sadistic smirk, as I
watch her have a complete meltdown.
“I didn’t
screw
him. We were just
fooling around. My God, could you be more repressed? I’ve been on
the pill since I was fifteen. Remember?” I tilt my head with a
sneer. “Oh, yeah, you probably don’t remember since you had Elise take me
to the gynecologist.” I pretend to check my phone again. “Get a
grip.”
“Just fooling around?” She says, her eyes
bugging out of her face. “Are you kidding me? You looked well on
your way to doing a lot more. Exactly how many men have you slept with,
Amber?” Holding her hand up, glancing away, she says, “Wait, wait….I
don’t want to know. Spare me the details.” Her eyes are frantic,
filled with worry. “Does he know who you are?”
“Relax mother, he doesn’t know I’m the deputy
mayor’s daughter. He doesn’t even know who you are. He knows me
through Angela.”
“Angela? I should have known,” she says,
throwing her hands up in exasperation. “This is the last thing I
need….Damn it!” Every problem always becomes all about her, her stupid
career, and how she needs to spin it.
My mom…the original drama queen.
She starts to pace as she rubs her forehead. Her high heeled pumps
clicking on the hard wood floor as she passes back and forth, pacing in front
of me.
Stopping abruptly, her face freezes in
shock. She blusters, “Oh my God, did he have his cell out? Please
tell me he didn’t film you. We don’t need a sex tape out there. My
God, tell me he didn’t take a shot of you while…while you…were naked. All
I need is some YouTube video of my daughter…” She sits down on the bed,
her face turning a light green as she stares at me, her brown eyes burning in
anticipation of my answer.
“No.” My voice filled with
contempt.
Dear God, how am I related to this woman?
I can practically see the wheels turning in my
mother’s shrewd mind as she calculates her next move. A calm and resolute
look passes over her. It still amazes me how she deals with a crisis,
crazy lunatic one minute, calm and authoritative the next.
Her face hardens into cold stone as her voice
takes on a chilling quality. "This kind of behavior…it’s simply not done.
I know you are an adult, and I certainly didn’t think you would be a
virgin on your wedding day….but what is with all this promiscuous
behavior?” Her mouth curves into a frown. “I refuse to tolerate
this behavior any longer. First it was that Angela situation, and now
this. I don’t know
wh
-”
“-A-Angela situation? Now she’s a
situation? She wasn’t a ‘situation,’
Mother
, she was a
person. A beautiful, talented, wonderful person and I loved her.
She was my world.” I frown, shaking my head. I cross my arms over
my chest as my eyes heat to a flame. “How dare you talk about her like
she was a piece of gum stuck to your
shoe.
You
don’t get to talk about her that way. My God! You are such a
bitch!”
The sharp sound of my mother’s slap hangs in
the air, leaving only a harsh sting and heated handprint in its wake.
As she straightens her back, she peers down her
nose at me with a bitter glare. She presses her hands down her suit as her
hands move smoothly down the tailored lines. “I have had it, Amber,” she
says. No shouting. No anger. Only cold determination flashes
across her face.
Going to my closet, she pulls out my suitcase,
tossing it on the bed. “Your aunt has been looking into colleges for you,
out of state of course. Thanks to your little performance tonight, I’m
forced to move the timetable up. Start packing. You’re going to
college in Texas.”
“Texas? What? I have friends here…I
am
not
going to another school.” My eyes widen.
“Yes you are.” Her face fills with cold
contempt, sending a quiet chill up my spine. “You’re leaving in the
morning. Aunt Patty will be your custodian while you finish
college. You can be her problem now...I am done.” She snaps,
“DONE.”
I begin pulling my clothes off hangers, shoving
them into the cases. “You want me to leave. Fine. I’ll
leave….I can start taking money from my trust on my twenty-first
birthday. I’ll find a way to make it until then.”
Her mouth curves into a cold smile as her sweet
smelling perfume permeates my nostrils, turning my stomach. “On
what? Your credit cards? I don’t think so.” She scoffs, “And, you
can forget about your trust fund. Your grandmother set up that trust fund
for you and named me as the sole trustee. You won’t get one red cent
until I say so.”
“You can’t do that,” I whisper.
Pointing a long manicured finger at me, she
says, “You are
not
staying in Chicago. You may be nineteen
years-old, but you are still a member of this family. I have had
it. If you walk out the door, you’ll get nothing from us. No trust
fund, no credit cards, nothing. You’ll be penniless with a high school
diploma. How far do you think you’ll get with that? Nowadays, you
won’t even be able to get a job at McDonalds.” She stands straight, her long
arms crossing over her chest, her mouth contorts into an ugly grimace.
My mouth slacks open.
I can’t believe
this.
I raise my brows and sneer at her. “You wouldn’t do
that. What would people say if you threw me out on the street?”
“Oh, honey. That I could sell….A
promiscuous girl, drugs, disrespectful….I did everything I could.” She
wipes away a fake tear and smirks at me with a snort as my stomach turns.
“Don’t push me.”
With a strange detachment, she studies
me. “You’ve changed over the last few years. I don’t know who you
are anymore. I mean, really? Not one, but two colleges in a
year...how you managed to flunk out twice is unimaginable,” she says with utter
disdain. “Your grandmother would be appalled.”
She looks at her manicure, her voice
cold. “When you asked to come home and attend school here, we welcomed
you home.” She shakes her head in disgust. “How did you repay us…an
incident that almost cost me the election? You thought you knew how to
handle any situation, didn’t you? All grown up, I’m an adult now.
You don’t choose my friends, run my life. Isn’t that what you said?
Who did you run to when things got rough? Me. I had to clean up
your mess. Did you ever think for a moment about me or the repercussions
to the family?” Her eyes glint as she glares at me.
Straightening, she pulls herself up to her full
statuesque height, demanding, “Get your things packed. I’m going to call
your aunt.” Jerking open the door, she stomps down the hall as she slides
her iPhone from her black Prada suit and dials my aunt.
The tears sting my eyes and trickle down my
cheeks. Staring at the door, devoid of any hope, it hits me.
I am so
fucked
.
She’s right. I don’t have anywhere to
go. I have no money of my own. All I have is a high school
diploma. Who would hire me? Even if I could get a job, where would
I live? I don’t have anyone I can stay with. Logan would probably
let me stay a few days with his family, but I couldn’t live there. He
shares a room with his two brothers, and his parents wouldn’t appreciate
another mouth to feed. I have a few friends from school but they’re all
in college.
Grabbing my toothbrush and makeup from the
bathroom, I notice my face in the mirror. Tears stain my checks, my
mascara streaking down my face. I wipe the tears away. Running my
hands through my short pale pink hair, my face filled with sadness,
frustration…desperation. As I wash my face, my hands gliding over my soft
skin, I wonder if she ever really wanted me.
Why the hell did she have me in the first
place? She acts like she hates me, like I’m a constant
disappointment. Was I merely the predicated next step to the life she
craved?
Nothing more than another item on her
checklist: Wealthy family – check, Ivy League education – check, old
money husband – check. A child must have been the next logical step to
her ultimate goal – running for political office. I am simply part of the
pretty picture she painted for the world to see. The perfect
family. My mother lives and breathes that shit. Money, social
standing, power…those are the important things.
All I ever wanted from her was love. When
I was old enough, at the decidedly mature age of six, I was sent off to
boarding school. The parents would arrive to pick up their kids from
school, anticipation and happiness filled the air. All my friends would
rush into their mother’s arms, smiling and excited. Warm hugs and
kisses. I would rush to her, too. I was always greeted with a quick
embrace and a curt hello. That is, if she came at all. Most of the
time, she sent our housekeeper, Elise.
When I came home, sometimes I wouldn’t see her
for days. I would ask Elise where my mommy was, and she would tell me
some story about how my mother had to be away for this or that. I got
used to being alone. I had Elise and Arthur but it wasn’t the same.
I wanted her. I was forced to be independent early on. All she
wanted to hear about were successes, that is, when I actually saw
her.
The maternal gene is clearly missing in my
mother. My entire childhood was spent with nannies. Only trotting
me out every now and again for holiday parties and special events, my sole
purpose was to stand in as the dutiful daughter.
I used to crave a relationship with my mother,
to feel that special connection between a mother and a daughter, to know she
loved me. Hell, I would’ve settled for liking me. I wanted to be
just like her…be near her. Make her “see” me,
really
“see”
me. I made myself into a carbon copy of her, thinking surely, that would
make her happy. I tried everything to get her attention. I focused
on being the poster child of perfection…I made good grades, dressed like she
wanted; hung out with the people she wanted, never caused a problem.