my head lays nestled in my favorite spot between Lexie’s breasts. Her hand absentmindedly strokes through my hair and down the bare skin of my spine.
The last week has been spent eating, talking, and fucking. Lexie and I haven’t left the penthouse, barely making it out of the bedroom. I make her beg to come, then I make her come until she begs me to stop.
If I’m not sitting with Lexie on the livingroom couch while she watches reality tv with my laptop, she’s on the sofa in my office sketching while I work at my desk. We cook together, eat together, sleep together. There’s been a shift towards a romantic relationship. The words haven’t been said, but I can feel the difference.
I think about telling Lexie the truth, that I’m in love with her. The feeling grows every second I’m with her. But I don’t want to risk scaring her off, and I’m not about to ruin what we currently have. I know we’ll get there, I’ll tell her when she’s ready to hear it.
“Tell me about your family,” I say, relaxing against the warmth of her. Lexie’s body shifts beneath me, tensing slightly. I’ve gotten so attune with her body it’s obvious my question has struck a nerve.
“I have a sister, Samantha. She’s two years younger than me,” she says. There’s something she’s not saying, a subject she doesn’t want to talk about. But I want it, whatever that secret is. I need to know every part of her.
“And your parents?” I prompt. She clears her throat softly, resituating on the pillow. A lock of her hair falls over my face, I can’t help but press my nose into her and inhale deeply. Her hair, her skin.
She always smells so fucking good.
“We don’t talk.” Despite her effort to sound casual, I can sense there’s far more to the story. If Lexie’s not in contact with her family, something happened to make her cut ties. Anger ripples through me at the thought.
“What did they do?” There’s darkness beneath my question, a short temper threatening to be set loose. I know she hears it.
“What makes you think they did something to me?” She tries her best to deny it, to talk her way around having this conversation. I’m not having any of that.
“Because I know you, Dewdrop. You’re far too forgiving. You wouldn’t cut someone out of your life unless they did something really fucked up to deserve it. You haven’t stopped talking to me.”
“I probably should,” she says softly. There’s no conviction in her voice, and I know I don’t have to worry. “You’ve done some pretty fucked up things of your own.”
She’s right, I have.
“You’ll never be rid of me. What did they do?” The question is met by silence. “Either you tell me, or I’ll track them down and get the answers myself.”
“My parents are very… strict.” She struggles to find the right word, not sounding satisfied with the description she came up with.
“Religious?” She shakes her head at my question, letting out a humorless laugh.
“No, they don’t believe in God. They don’t believe in anything—except maybe the powerball.”
“But you do.” I’ve noticed the way she prays for little things, the way she speaks to God like he’s listening at every moment.
“I do believe in God,” she agrees easily. “I’ve seen enough people die and brought back to life to believe there’s something after this life.” We’re getting off track, so I steer the conversation back to the answers I want.
“What were they strict about?”
Lexie takes a deep breath, holding it in for a second before letting it out slowly. “Absolutely everything. They hated wasting things on me and my sister.”
“What do you mean waste?” I ask deeply, my jaw tightening. My temper is already flaring, and she hasn’t even begun her story yet.
“Food, money, time, attention. Affection.” Her voice lacks the bitterness I’m expecting. “Basically anything other than fulfilling their legal obligation to provide the bare minimum requirements to house, clothe, and feed us were a waste. They kept everything locked down, never spent an extra penny on us that they could save for something else. Something for themselves.”
“Locked?”
“Padlocked. The cabinets in the kitchen, the fridge, the thermostat. Only my parents had the keys and asking for any of them was pointless.” I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. She doesn’t seem surprised by them, or bothered, so she continues. “Lights out every night was at nine-thirty or else we were ‘wasting electricity’. All of my clothes were hand-me-downs or pulled from church donation boxes, none of them actually fit me. I didn’t even know my real bra size until I moved out and went to get measured at a store for the first time.”
Her bra size is 42H, and she’s absolutely glorious. I’m taking her shopping tomorrow.
“We got one shower a week, two if we were menstruating. But only for ten minutes or else my mom would shut the water off. She used a timer in the kitchen to keep track. It’s funny though, because whatever money was saved by taking cold showers went straight to my dad’s bets at the race track and my mom’s weekly lotto scratch-offs.”
“That’s abuse, Lexie.” What she’s describing is neglect and all types of child abuse—and just the thought of it makes me want to go put my suppressor to good use. She nods unemotionally, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.
“I know,” she says with a sigh. “I felt so ugly for the longest time, so unloveable. I smelled terrible, my hair was always a greasy mess. My clothes never fit. I felt like I had to be funny for anyone to like me, like if I wasn’t the life of the party I’d never hold anyone’s attention long enough to be my friend. My jokes became my way to distract from the undesirable parts of me.” The way she acknowledges it without getting emotional, it’s like it doesn’t have any power over her anymore. Like she’s already moved past it. I never would’ve guessed any of this about her, so maybe she has.
“What happened after you moved out?”
“I got a job at a plant nursery and worked my way through nursing school. For a while everything my mom said to me was ingrained in my every move. I heard her voice everywhere I went—only bought basic foods at the grocery store, never went shopping for fun. Even though my clothes finally fit, they were plain and simple. I looked in the mirror one morning and something clicked. I was out of that house, but I was living like I was still trapped inside. And if that’s how I chose to treat myself after all that time, I was admitting that I thought I deserved it. But I didn’t. I knew that it wasn’t the life I wanted, I deserve so much more. So I made changes.”
“That’s when you met Julie.”
“Yes, Julie completely transformed my life. And little by little, I created the life I’ve always dreamed of. Pretty dresses, skincare, karaoke nights, houseplants. As long as I’m financially responsible, I can have whatever brings me joy. I can be as colorful and extra as I want to be, and no one can ever tell me it’s a waste ever again.” There’s not an ounce of apology in her voice. “I worked really hard on my self image too. Hours and hours of therapy sessions healing the fractured part of me that saw myself as unlovable. I still have good days and bad days, like everyone else. But I’m fucking hot.”
“So fucking hot.” My agreement rumbles low in my chest, a primal growl that makes her laugh softly. Turning my head into her chest I nip at her breast through the thin silk of her pajama top, eliciting a moan. Her hands thread through my hair, tugging me closer.
“I used to wonder if maybe I’d never find someone. That maybe the way I was raised was too damaging, something I’d just have to learn to live with.” Her tone carries an unspoken but.
“But?” I press, unashamed in my prying. I want to know all of it, it’s basically compulsive at this point. I’m so far gone for her.
“But then I met you.” Her words makes me grin, so stupidly happy I can hardly stand it. Pulling away, I sit up on the bed to look down at her. Even in the darkness I can make out each of her delicate features, facial features I’ve committed to memory and never tire of looking at.
I want to see her. All of her.
The mattress dips beneath my weight when I reach over to the night stand and snap the lamp on. Her eyes blink up at me as light floods the room, and I can’t help myself from leaning down to kiss her. Our mouths spark, her lips sweet against mine. The hunger growing inside me demands more, pulling and teasing until she’s moaning against me.
She spent so much of her life deprived of happiness and love, it enrages me. Lexie is the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met. Her personality shines through, she fucking glows from the inside out. She’s too smart for her own good, and more fun than most people deserve to experience. The way she cares about people, so deeply—purely—never ceases to amaze me.
Lexie West is a brilliant star blazing through any darkness, capturing anyone that she comes across until they’re drawn into her orbit with undying loyalty. I gave into her magnetic pull a long time ago, it wasn’t too long before I realized any resistance was as useless as fighting gravity. Now my every thought is destined to orbit around her, the center of my universe.
“You will never have to settle for anything less than everything.” And I’m determined to give her just that. There’s nothing I won’t do for this woman. “Tell me what you want, what you need. I won’t stop until the whole world is at your feet.”
“Right now all I want is you, Cal. Inside me. Now.”
***
The familiar buzzing sounds in the studio. I barely feel the bite of the needle as Gage pricks ink into the skin of my chest. Keeping my left side rigidly still under the tattoo artist’s hands, I use my right hand to press my phone to my ear. The other line picks up after two rings.
“Boss,” Roscoe greets. “We have a confirmed sighting.” Roscoe and Enzo have been tasked with tracking down the men responsible for Lottie’s abduction.
Kellen might have snatched her off the street, and Anton Kozlov held and transported the girls. But they’re small fish, cogs in the machine. The five men responsible for the sale of little girls in this part of New York are all business men who hide behind their desks while they ruin children’s lives. I won’t lose any sleep over their deaths.
“Make sure they’re all there, then take them out.” I give him the green light. “Take photo evidence when it’s done. Harris wants them to suffer.”
“Got it. Photos will be uploaded to the server,” Roscoe confirms. I can hear Enzo giving updates on movement and location logistics.
“Meet me at my place after you’ve scrubbed the scene,” I say, glancing down at Gage’s work in progress. “I want a full report.”
“Consider it done.” With that, I end the call.
Gage adjusts the light stand to get a better look at his shading, glancing up at me. He’s been biting his tongue since I got here, but he knows better than to ask questions. And I definitely don’t need his opinion.
“Finally found the right one, huh?” Gage’s question is about my choice in tattoo design, but my answer isn’t.
“Definitely the right one.”
