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“Now,” I demand.
She grabs my shoulders and buries her face into me.
“That’s it. Just like that. I’ve got you.” Satisfaction rolls through my veins, but she changes her mind and pulls back.
And I’m irritated. I want her. I want her to want me back. I breathe through the frustration. I won’t get angry. I’ll just work harder.
Foiled into an orgasm once again. And the look of satisfaction on his face afterwards, you’d think I surrendered and declared I’d marry him or something.
And for a split second in that post-coital glow, I almost did. Thankfully my sense returned.
Just because there’s physical chemistry and just because he’s insanely attractive and swears he wants to make my wants and needs his first priority doesn’t mean I’m going to be dumb enough to just fall in line.
Unless you count the sex. Yes, I’ve given in there. Because not only is he incredibly strong with the ability to move me how and where he wants me, he’s definitely a god in bed. He makes my body betray me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll lose my marbles and give in. Because being able to make gorgeous, intricately-drawn but powerfully bold figure eights with your hips while inside me doesn’t equate to the potential for a happily ever after. Sadly.
Because how can I give myself over to someone who’s thrown my entire life into a tailspin? You don’t fall for someone who gets you to do what they want you to do through threats of violence against those you care about.
After fucking me, he cuddles me and seems in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything, but lets me pry myself away when I mutter that I need the bathroom.
I lock the door and take a long, hot shower where I do a whole lot of pondering the what ifs.
Will Alannah play a watch and see game? Or is she already hard at work on a plan to free me from this?
Should I try to speak to Derek’s sister on the side to see if she’s someone I can reason with? Could she steer her parents and siblings to get involved and have him signed in for a psychiatric hold?
Also, how is Adam doing? Is he missing me or is he counting all the opportunities coming his way? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore what Adam says, thinks, or does, does it?
My mind wanders somewhere it doesn’t generally go; my biological parents. Do I even want to know anything about them? What difference would it make?
He’s somehow hit the nail on the head about my family. My parents showed care and affection to me as a child. I wasn’t abused. But it was evident early on that Bryan was their favorite. The way their eyes lit up with every milestone, every accomplishment. I didn’t get that same light from them. He looked like a perfect combination of the two of them. When I found out on my twelfth birthday that they adopted me as a baby and that Bryan was their biological child, a lot of things made sense. But Bryan made everything better. He was the best brother I could’ve asked for. We were best friends. And I remembered thinking at night alone in my bed, months after finding out, that if we weren’t so close, if he hadn’t bonded with me as soon as he was self-aware enough to reach for me, maybe they wouldn’t have kept me. Because they had their bio kid.
When he got sick, I did become invisible. When he died, I did try to make up for things by being the perfect child. Cooking. Cleaning. Looking after my parents. Trying to be the glue for our family through trying hard with my grades, with athletics, with everything. But my mom was pretty checked out. Dad wasn’t much better.
My parents haven’t ever been cold or mean to me, but they don’t exactly make much of an effort. Really haven’t since I turned eighteen and went off to school.
So many people talk about how much their adoptive parents deserve their everlasting gratitude for giving them the most amazing childhood when their biological parents couldn’t. But I rarely hear kids talk about families who seem to tolerate their adoptive kids rather than treasuring them as if they were blood.
Even though I’ve occasionally felt like I was a second-class family member, I know it could’ve been worse. They’re not bad people. They’re just sort of indifferent.
But even still, I’ve never sought out my birth mother. All I knew was that she had me young and wanted me to go to a family who couldn’t have children. She wanted to go to college. She had a scholarship opportunity and didn’t have a supportive family to help her raise me. My parents told me she probably wouldn’t come looking for me. As far as I know, she didn’t. I thought about asking about her a few times before Bryan got sick. I never did and then after Bryan, I didn’t want to insult them or have them feel like they were losing me, too.
And now, feeling betrayed by Adam and that being compounded by Derek blowing the dust off the open wounds left from my relationship with my parents, I now wonder how much Derek knows about my life, my parents, my birth parents.
After the long shower, I finally have an appetite, so I dress in sweats and wander out to the kitchen to warm up my breakfast. Derek is at the dining table, laptop open, phone to his ear.
“No,” he says, “Columbus for at least a few more days. After that, we’ll see… Right. Right. Bye.” He puts his phone down and watches me put my plate in the microwave.
I avoid his eyes while uncapping the cold water I get from the fridge.
While I’m eating microwaved pancakes and bacon at the kitchen counter, studiously avoiding meeting his gaze as he shamelessly watches me, his phone chimes with an alert.
“Oh, Nicola is here,” he says and rises, eyes on his phone. “Be right back.”
I don’t ask who Nicola is. I continue shoveling reheated pancakes into my face. They’re good, even reheated. So is the syrup from his family place.
Bottled with love by The Steele Family.
Well, bully for the Steele family with their steel heart logo. Even if it is damn good maple syrup. After I’m done, I’m still hungry, so I reach under the dome on the counter and pull out one of the chocolate éclairs and take a big bite. And then another. Even a day old, it’s still the best thing ever.
