Scared of Forever (Scared #2) Read online

  She must like this. She’s so very warm and so very wet. I slide my fingers in. One, two, three, and pump into her fiercely. Her body arches back in response. I look up at her face. She looks at me with lust-filled, yet questioning eyes.

  I reach down and pull her pants down to her ankles, and then drop my boxers. Without another word, I spin her around, lean her forward, and press into her from behind. Emily’s body tenses as I slide into her. Slowly, but purposefully at first. Her hands grip the sink’s single faucet in front of her firmly, giving me the traction I need. I use one hand to push her body against the cold stone countertop, and the other to grip her, pulling her head back. This is reckless abandon and chaos at it’s very best.

  She moans, then cries out, a small choking sound escaping her lips every time I pound into her. Harder, faster now. I can’t tell if she’s crying in pleasure or pain. She feels so tight, and I’m so far gone. It all just sounds like white noise now. Her knuckles are nearly white from gripping the tap so tightly. I give her one final thrust; it’s the hardest, the deepest, the most violent. And finally, all the tension in my body releases into hers.

  I lean over her back, loosening my grip on her hair, and seeing the strands on my hands that came loose through my yanking. Emily is quiet. Her breath ragged. This, this was ownership. She was mine. I lace my arms around her waist and rest my head against her back, listening to her breath, shallow and quick from the exertion.

  She turns to face me, her eyes look confused, but not angry. “Did I hurt you?” I ask, pushing a strand of hair gently away from her face.

  “No. I mean yes, but—” she stammers.

  A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach.

  “I liked it,” she finishes, oddly very shy suddenly. “It was different, somehow.”

  “How?” I ask, trailing a finger down her cheek, memorizing every bone, every angle.

  “Just—different.” She looks away quickly, as if to compose herself, then returns to face me with a smile, looking almost as if it were forced. “I can handle you though. I’m not as fragile as you think I am,” she teases.

  “Really?” I say cockily. Emily surprises me often. But this time, this time I was truly floored. I feel completely sexually emancipated. For the first time since we met, I feel completed by Emily. Like I don’t need anybody else. Only I do. I need Aria.

  “You would tell me if I hurt you, right? I don’t wanna hurt you,” I add eyeing her with genuine concern.

  “You would never hurt me,” she says, but it leaves her mouth as more of a question than an affirmation. Her eyes search mine for a few moments, the question hanging above our heads.

  “Never deliberately,” I say, scooping her into my arms and carrying her to the bedroom. Emily doesn’t protest when I pull her onto my naked body again. I thought that fucking her would resolve the disconnected vibe I keep getting from Emily, that if we were close sexually, then the feeling of emptiness in the space between us would be bridged. That doesn’t happen, though. My suspicions are further fuelled by the fact that she sleeps with her back to me, avoiding curling into my arms as she usually does. I don’t like this feeling at all.

  Chapter 8:

  Emily

  I stand in the shower alone, after Blake has left for work. It’s Saturday, but it’s not unusual that he’s at work today. He often works the weekends. The warm water falls against my skin. I am so tender from last night. Every droplet that lands between my legs causes a sting. Last night was, well, I can’t really put into words the way it felt. Blake was wild, reckless. He’s normally so put together. Everything is strategic. He never loses control like that. In a way, I’m glad I saw a side of Blake that was emotional and real. Even if said real side leaves me walking slightly askew for the next few days.

  I stand in front of the mirror. Said real side also left real marks. I rub the bruise on my left arm with my other hand. Four perfect circles. And another three smaller, less noticeable ones lay just above my jawline.

  Still, the nagging thoughts in my mind won’t remain silent. Blake was home early yesterday. Maia’s right. I have no evidence to suggest that my future husband is anything but loyal, besides the hearsay and allegations from others. The sun has decided to make a random appearance today, so I decide to take a book and walk over to Central Park to read on one of the benches. Surrounded by grass and trees, I feel grounded there. I usually find a spot where the huge ancient trees completely obscure the views of the concrete jungle.

  If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine that I’m back home, staring out onto a huge paddock, listening to the sounds of the nearby streams. Dogs barking, children laughing. I read about three chapters of my book before Mother Nature decides that the sun has overstayed its welcome. Grey clouds move quickly overhead, and before I have a chance to slide in my bookmark, the rain comes pelting down in huge, heavy drops. I sigh and begin the walk back to the apartment.

  Just as I’m about to cross the street, I hear a familiar voice call my name. “Emily!”

  Tyler jogs up to me, a soggy paper held above his head his only protection from the rain. “Is there a point?” I ask smiling and pointing up at the paper, which now almost resembles papier-mâché.

  “I guess not,” he smiles, tossing the paper into the trashcan nearby. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. I wonder briefly why we are standing silently in the rain like a couple of idiots.

  “Why are we standing in the rain?” Tyler asks, plucking the thought right from my head.

  “No idea,” I say before dashing towards the awning of a small bakery. “Why are you walking around in the rain?”

  “I was out for a drive, and I got soaked. Then I was cold, and needed coffee,” he explains.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that drives a convertible with the top down in the pouring rain, just for the sake of looking cool.”

  Tyler laughs. “I actually do not own a BMW. I do have a convertible, but it’s a Jeep, an off-roader. And I got wet because I was on my motorbike.”

  “You just love anything that’s synonymous with freedom, don’t you?” I observe. I’ve gathered, in the few meetings that we’ve had, that Tyler doesn’t like to be tied down. He needs to be free.

  “I’ve never been on a motorbike before,” I say. God, that makes me sound so naïve.

  “I’d offer to take you for a drive but…” he trails off, gesturing at the torrential rain.

  “No, I have to get back. I have some stuff I need to do at the apartment,” I say quickly. The thought of sitting on a motorbike with my arms wrapped around the waist of a very soaking wet Tyler is almost too much for my psyche to handle.

  “Okay,” he says before stepping aside to let me walk past. “Let’s have lunch sometime. If you can, that is?”

  Tyler turns away, and just as he does, something in me doesn’t want him to leave. Aside from Mac, Tyler is really the only person that I have the ability to hang out with. “Wait,” I call after him.

  He turns to face me, eyebrows raised expectantly.

  “We could do lunch today. I’m free. Blake is probably going to be home tomorrow, so today is really my only free day.” My stomach lurches with nervous tension, both for the feeling of being deceitful to Blake and for the excited anticipation of spending more time with Tyler.

  “You wanna get out of this city?” he asks.

  “Please,” I say with a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Nomadic wanderers like myself have a nose for other nomadic wanderers. And I can tell that you hate all the concrete. Plus, the other day when I walked you to work, you scowled every time a taxi honked its horn,” Tyler says, grinning.

  I do do that. “I can’t believe you noticed,” I say in true disbelief.

  “I notice more than you realize,” he says, staring intently at my concealer-covered jaw.

  We walk back to the apartment together and part ways to change into drier, more comfortable clothing. Tyler tells me to meet h
im in the garage under the building. I’m ready in fifteen minutes, wait another five for good measure, and then take the elevator down to the basement level. Tyler is standing there already, leaning against a khaki colored jeep, thick mud caking the wheels. The soft top is pulled closed. In his hands, he holds a big brown bag.

  “If that’s duct tape and rope—” I begin jokingly, stopping dead in my tracks and pointing sternly at the bag.

  “Depends,” he smiles. “Do you want it to be? Does duct tape and rope look like freshly baked Italian herb loaf, Swiss cheese slices, and macaroons? Oh, and I may or may not have stuffed the rope into this,” he quips, holding up a thermos containing what I assume to be coffee.

  “How did you change and do all that in twenty minutes? And aren’t we going to lunch?” I ask.

  “We are going to eat,” Tyler says, feigning seriousness.

  “Just not at an actual eating establishment, I’m guessing,” I say, somewhat apprehensively.

  “That’s so ordinary. Relax, I don’t bite,” he says with a small laugh. “And I know that’s the line most people in horror movies say right before they drag their helpless victims into the woods to do away with them. But I promise, my only intention is to give you a break from the smog and bright lights.” Tyler offers me an absolutely angelic and innocent smile.

  His warm eyes silently attest to the sincerity of his words as he eyes me expectantly. He walks over to the passenger side of the Jeep and opens the door with exaggerated grandeur, sweeping a hand across his midline elegantly.

  “That’s a bit of a lost art,” I say as I climb up the high step into the seat, thankful that I’d opted for ballet flats and jeans.

  “What is?” Tyler asks as he hops into the driver’s seat.

  “Gentlemanly behavior. Chivalry. I don’t know when, if ever, anybody has opened my door for me,” I say, slightly ashamed that as a woman, I hadn’t demanded better treatment.

  “Well, strap yourself in, princess. Today is gonna be a day of amazing first times.” Tyler shoots me a cheeky grin, before turning the key in the ignition.

  “Is it too late to change my mind?” I laugh, playfully grabbing for the door handle.

  “Yup. You’re now my willing prisoner,” he says solemnly before taking off.

  Tyler drives us carefully out of the city. The rain clouds that had opened up above the city seem to be moving in the opposite direction now. The further away we drive, the clearer the sky becomes, the ratio of blue to grey skewing more as the road widens from narrow city streets to open country roads.

  “Where are we going?” I ask. The drive seems to be infinite.

  “Do you trust me?” Tyler asks.

  “Should I? I barely even know you.”

  “Trusting the people you know can sometimes be even worse than trusting the ones you don’t,” Tyler says quietly.

  “What does that mean?” I ask nervously. Does he mean Blake? Eliza?

  “Forget it,” Tyler says. “I don’t particularly want to ruin the day by talking about all that heavy shit. We’re nearly there.”

  “Why are you being so nice to someone you barely know?” I ask, looking towards Tyler, who is focusing intently on the road ahead.

  “Do I need a reason to be a nice guy?” He shoots me with a charming smile. His brow furrows as he averts his eyes back to the road. “You can tell me if you’re uncomfortable with any of this. We can go straight back. I’d understand, I mean, you haven’t known me all that long.”

  “Not at all,” I say sincerely. Fact is, I feel more comfortable and safer in Tyler’s company than I did with Blake last night.

  I roll the window down and inhale the salty ocean air that wafts in. Leaning forward to look past Tyler, I see, between the tall oak trees that flank the road, the vast, sapphire blue sea. The sun has even decided to make an appearance from beyond the grey, ominous clouds.

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  “Welcome to the Hamptons,” Tyler says jovially.

  “I thought you hated all things high society, and you decide to bring me to the summer playground of New York’s rich and famous?” I question, confused.

  “We’re not going to hang out with the rich and famous. Besides, it isn’t society season. The only people here now are those who actually live here,” he explains.

  We continue to drive, beyond the sprawling mansions with their impossibly green lawns, perfectly manicured and lined with tall evergreen fir trees.

  “That’s Eliza’s summer house,” Tyler says, pointing to a majestic stone mansion nestled between two long stretches of sand, and backing directly onto the white sandy beach.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim. “I think that place is bigger than my whole home town!”

  Tyler just laughs. “I take it you’ve never been inside it then. It’s full of space and echoes.”

  We drive right past it, until the road becomes narrower and declines steeply, the Jeep’s tires picking up the rocks and sand from the dirt track and flinging them backwards relentlessly. Tyler handles the car amazingly well, navigating and steering carefully over the now very thin road until we arrive at a much smaller, yet still expansive, weatherboard cottage. The white framed windows look positively striking against the dark beige paint of the exterior. A picketed wraparound balcony encases the obviously abandoned house.

  “We’re here,” Tyler says happily. He parks the car and hops quickly from his seat, jogging around to open my door.

  I take a step out and stare in awe at the sight before me. The beach stretches out for miles. Immediately ahead, a makeshift fence has been created between the house and the sand from old pieces of hardwood, pickets and thin wire. The sun casts a luminous sparkle against the rising tide.

  Just as I’m turning my attention to Tyler, my phone vibrates in my jeans.

  I pull it from the tight pocket and flick on the screen. It’s a message from Blake.

  Hi baby, what are you doing?

  I look up towards Tyler. The truth would go something like, I just went on a two hour drive with your brother, who you hate, alone. And now we’re standing, still alone, on a deserted beach in the Hamptons. Considering that this is completely innocent, but will obviously not be perceived as such, I type back a lie. The first one I have ever told Blake.

  Just out shopping. What time will you be home?

  The reply comes in seconds later.

  Late today. There’s more than enough cash in your account. Have fun. PS, I wish I was at home with you. Love you.

  I sigh and dim the LED screen on the phone. I don’t reply to the last message.

  “Everything okay?” Tyler asks, lugging a huge picnic blanket from the Jeep’s trunk.

  “Fine,” I say with a smile. “You do realize the sand is wet, right?”

  “I know,” he says, before walking over to the old house and climbing the rickety stairs to the porch.

  “Isn’t this considered trespassing?” I ask suspiciously, grabbing the bag and thermos and following behind him.

  “Not at all. My family owns this place, too, except that the only person who ever comes here is me. It was my grandfather’s place. My mother’s childhood home,” Tyler explains. “I used to sneak over here when we came up for the summer as a kid. And eventually, every time I needed to get away, it became my thing. My place.”

  I thought Eliza Carson grew up in a boarding school, owing to her severe an uncaring demeanor. I never once imagined that her childhood home could have been so idyllic.

  Tyler flicks the blanket onto the expansive deck and plops down unceremoniously on it. For a minute, I think that the holey wood may disintegrate underneath him, and he might be in danger of falling straight through.

  “Careful,” I tease, sitting cautiously beside him.

  “Nah,” he says dismissively. “Looks can be deceiving. This wood is stronger than you think.” He gives the wood a solid knock with his fist and shoots me a heart-melting smile.

  “Why does everything that leaves y
our mouth sound so metaphorical? You know, just coming out and saying something usually works infinitely better than dancing around a subject.”

  “Maybe I’m just poetic? Maybe my voice is lyrical. Maybe, I just have a way with words?” Tyler replies, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “Maybe you need to quit flirting!” I scold. “I’m going to be your sister-in-law soon. It’s a little—incestuous.”

  Tyler grabs his phone from his pocket and busily types something in. I don’t ask what he’s doing. It’s not my business, anyway.

  “Incestuous—” he begins. “Being so close or intimate as to prevent proper functioning, or the act of sexual impurity.”

  I blush furiously. Tyler moves over a few spaces and grins at me teasingly. “There, the dictionary tells me to not sit too close to you, seeing as how your proximity to me rattles you and impairs your proper functioning, owing to all of your sexually impure thoughts.”

  “Very funny,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “My mind is extremely chaste, thank you!”

  “Now look who’s lying and flirting,” he laughs.

  I would have smacked him in the arm for that one, but I’d have to reach too far.

  Tyler’s company is pleasant, and it’s almost impossible not to relax when I’m with him. We ease into a comfortable silence, enjoying the spectacular view ahead. We do occasionally talk, but for many moments, we just stare at the water. The waves lap rhythmically against the sandy flatland, making a soft whooshing sound as they return to the abyss of the ocean. The sound is the same as holding a seashell to your ear. A light wind eventually picks up, and the soft sound of the waves is joined with the rustling of the large tufts of swamp grass, which bend and bow under Mother Nature’s touch. There is no smog, no noise, no cars, and no people. There is nothing around to destroy this absolutely ethereal scene.

  We eat our humble lunch of the makeshift cheese sandwiches, and then proceed to taste the twelve different flavored French macaroons, one by one. Not surprisingly, I’m partial to the double chocolate, cookies and cream, and vanilla bean varieties. Tyler raves on about the exotic ones: mango, passion fruit, and wild lychee. We wash it all down with what I thought would be coffee, but isn’t. It’s a decadent and rich hot chocolate. I fall over laughing when Tyler takes a big bite of his half of the lemon sorbet flavored macaroon and promptly scrunches his face up ridiculously. The day is simple, uncomplicated. Easy.