“Do I need your permission to exist outside of my office, Selene?”
“No, giving you marching orders is more of Aubrey’s domain.” I tilt my head to the side, slipping easily into our adversarial banter. “Or has he handed your reins over to Cordelia?”
My question strikes a chord somewhere deep inside Jordan. Her nostrils flare, and tension cuts jagged lines into her features. “Do you know what I do every day, Selene? I stand in front of reporters and cameras from the most prestigious publications in our nation, and I field question after question about you and Aubrey and CordeliafuckingBarnes. I answer for everything your husband has done in his life including the shit he took this morning and the amount of time he spent wiping his ass. When I stand behind that podium, narratives shift and legacies are formed all through the power ofmytongue, so trust me when I say theonlyperson holding any reins here is me.”
I know what confidence looks like on Jordan. I’ve seen it turn her spine into a steel rod and the tongue she’s bragging about into a poison-tipped dagger.Thisis not confidence. This is the incessant bark of a small dog that wants you to believe it’s big, that needs you to buy into its act because scaring you means it doesn’t have to be ruled by its fear anymore.
She storms out of the room, and I watch her go, wondering what exactly she’s afraid of.
8
BECK
It’s been years since I’ve lived with a partner, so I’d forgotten what it was like to go from sipping coffee and watching the morning news as you get ready for work to being balls deep in a person you’re incapable of saying no to in the span of a second.
Cal so rarely lets me have this.
The honor of control. The gift of sacred invasion. The sight of his back muscles straining to maintain the position I’ve put him in. The soft, crushing weight of his walls contracting around my dick as a reward for every inch I feed into him only to take it back and start the process all over again.
“Don’t fucking tease me,” he grunts, rocking his hips.
“Always trying to top from the bottom,” I mutter, holding his ass cheeks apart to enjoy the view of my length disappearing inside him. “Trust me to take care of you, Drake. It’s all I want to do.”
He softens then, surrendering to the pace I’ve set. It’s a slow, demanding rhythm filled with restraint and tenderness that suggests we have all the time in the world to indulge in each other when we’re really flirting with being late.
Still, I can’t find it in me to rush.
My hands move to Cal’s hips. One set of fingers finding purchase in the hard flesh while the other continues up his body, coming to a rest at his throat. Cal pulls in a harsh breath when they wrap around it, my palm barely grazing his Adam’s Apple as I bury my fingertips in his skin, using my grip to pull him into my chest.
We’re both kneeling now, and the new position turns us both feral. All thoughts of careful control turned to ash in the wake of a flame that knows nothing but the impatience of desire, the demand of need that erupts like a volcano between his body and mine, leaving us both panting and filthy on the closet floor.
Cal recovers first, because of course he does, and goes to the bathroom to wash up. I’m still trying to find the strength to do the same when he returns with a warm, soapy wash cloth and an adoring smile on his face. He makes quick work of cleaning me up and drops a kiss on my forehead when he’s done.
“You know I’ll always trust you to take care of me, right?”
I curse myself silently for the inadvertent exposure of my insecurity. “Of course,” I answer, finally making my way to my feet. It’s not a lie. I know Cal trusts me. The problem is I don’t always feel worthy of that trust. Mostly, I just feel destructive, like I can break anything or anyone.
Like I broke Charlie.
Before the thought can take root and cast a shadow over my day, I push it away, maneuvering around Cal’s large form to get back to my side of the closet to finish selecting an outfit. It’s not a hard choice since the only thing either one of us ever wears to work is a black suit, and yet, we always find ourselves standing back-to-back considering the options on our overfilled shelves.
“We need a bigger closet,” I announce, pulling a crisp white shirt from the folded stack in front of me and shrugging it on.
“No, we just need less clothes.”
“Yeah, that’s true too, but even if we get rid of half of our stuff this closet still wouldn’t be big enough for the three of us.”
Thinking about the future we will hopefully get to share with Selene is the only thing that seems to help me forget how fucked up I am. I don’t get the logic behind it, can’t see how daydreaming about a future I don’t think I deserve soothes any part of me, but somehow it does.
Cal’s eyes are bright with hope and the taste of future joy when I turn to face him.
“You’re right,” he says, gazing around the space. Before I moved in, it would have been considered generous, but now it can only be described as cozy. There’s no word for what it would be if we tried to fit even a fourth of Selene’s shoe collection in here. “I guess we’ll just have to get a bigger house,” he concludes as he makes his way into the bedroom with me on his heels. The news is still on, and the anchors are, yet again, discussing Aubrey pulling out of talks with Qatar about a military base here in the states. I grab the remote and shut the TV off.
“Just like that?”
He nods, stepping into his pants while I do the same. “Just like that. I never planned to stay in this house forever anyway. It was always supposed to become a rental property.”
“Yes, I know, but you said that was a few years down the line, not anytime soon.”
