clothes off and get on the bed.”
“Why?” Her eyes dance between mine and the bed behind me.
It hits me—really hits me—that this woman is willing to take all the pain I want to inflict on her, all because she loves me.
“I’m going to fuck you again,” I say.
Harder. Faster. Deeper. Mercilessly.
I’m starting to feel again, and I need to be numb to her.
Thirty-Seven
Ayla
* * *
“Is your number still the same?” I ask as I’m getting ready to slip out of his hotel room before the sun comes up Sunday morning.
He let me stay last night. Progress? That has to count for something. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to try to get me to leave.
“Don’t call me,” he says.
“So we’re back to this?”
“I’ll break you,” he promises, striding toward me. Or is it a threat? Either way, I don’t care. My heart refuses to listen. His hand lifts to my jaw, his thumb grazing my lower lip as his stare penetrates.
He smells like me—like us. He didn’t wash me off of him the second time.
“A little late for that.” I hold my breath, I let his mouth crush mine, and I allow myself fall knowing there will never be a safety net at the bottom. “You broke me a long time ago, Rhett. And you’re the only one who can put me back together.”
“Never mind. I found her. She just walked in. I’ll call you later.” Seth is pacing our hotel room when I return Sunday morning. He exhales, relieved, when he sees me, ending his call and placing his phone on the dresser. “Where the hell were you? God, I was about to call the police.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I ran into an old friend last night. Got a little swept up in the moment. And then my phone died.”
“You could have found a way to call,” he says. I’ve never seen him so angry with me. “I thought something bad had happened, Ayla.”
“I’m sorry.”
He moves closer to me, and I wonder if he’ll be able to smell Rhett.
“Rosalie called this morning,” he says. “She was trying to get a hold of you. Called the hotel room.”
“Yeah? What’d she say?”
“Keep in mind, this is not official. But. She says her contact at Cutler and Bagby is saying Hard Hearted has sold fifty thousand copies this weekend alone,” he says. “And we won’t know until Wednesday, but we’re pretty sure you’re going to hit the New York Times bestsellers list.”
My hand clamps over my mouth. “Seth! Are you serious?”
He nods, smirking. He’s happy for me. Genuinely happy. I throw my arms around his shoulders, and he squeezes me tight, spinning me around the room.
And still, for some bittersweet reason, my mind goes to Rhett, wishing it were Rhett swinging me around, smiling for me and congratulating me, and knowing it will probably never be him.
“Flight leaves this afternoon,” Seth says, releasing me. “Want to hit the Museum of Modern Art before we go? They’ve got a Carolee Schneeman exhibit I’d love to see if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course. Give me a little bit to get ready?”
I grab my clothes from my suitcase and hit the showers, soaping my body until remnants of Rhett swirl around the drain. It’s only when I’m drying off and standing before the bathroom mirror that I see the bite marks along the top of my shoulder. I run my finger along them. They’re light and they’ll fade soon.
They didn’t hurt at the time, but my senses were overwhelmed by the sheer fact that his hands and mouth were claiming my body in ways they hadn’t in so long.
I was starved for him.
I was so famished for his touch, I took him any way I could, even cold and raw.
Thirty-Eight
Ayla
* * *
“You want to dance?” Seth comes up from behind me at Viv and Fernando’s wedding, his hand grazing my low back as I order another drink from the bar. The DJ spins an Al Green song from across the room and couples are shuffling toward the dance floor, surrounding the bride and groom.
Love is in the air. Literally. The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Almeida haven’t stopped smiling since they took their first walk down the aisle, and they’ve been joined at the hip all night. It isn’t much different from any other day in that respect, but today has truly been something special. So. Much. Love.
I couldn’t be happier for them.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” I tell Seth.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.