“Did you borrow my Crown Point sweatshirt?” I march into Thalia’s room and eye her pile of laundry.
She glances up from her textbook, frowning. “No, I don’t think so. You can’t find it?”
I shake my head, but I can’t look away from the laundry. Because it reminds me that I’ve had some other items go missing recently. The bottle of my favorite lotion. A lipstick I wore a few times in the past few months. My best black jeans.
“Maybe you left it at Steele’s,” she suggests. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, the textbook on her lap, computer open beside her. A notebook and highlighters surround her. It’s Saturday, and she mentioned doing all her homework before the game tonight.
Which is smart, because if the Hawks win, we’re definitely going drinking.
And drinking usually leads to the two H’s—hookups and hangovers.
“I might’ve,” I say slowly, shaking my head. I don’t remember bringing that stuff over, but maybe he thought he’d pack them to tempt me into staying longer.
A sweet sentiment, if a bit demented.
Actually, that sums up Steele pretty nicely.
“Has my uncle been staying here still?”
Thalia shakes her head. “He left a note for you on the kitchen island. Sorry, I read it. He had to head back to Chicago this morning. It said he would be in touch.”
Weird.
I shift my weight, suddenly worried that his rapid departure has to do with my dad. If he was causing more chaos in Chicago that required his immediate attention.
My stomach swoops.
Thalia points to the empty space on her bed. “Want to join me?”
I shake my head. “Going to do lunch with Steele. Like an actual date.”
Her jaw drops. “He’s capable of chivalry?”
“Oh, shush.” I head back to my room and search for something else to wear, because clearly my CPU sweatshirt isn’t going to miraculously appear. I find a black sweater instead and brush out my hair. I leave it long and loose, pulling it forward over my shoulders, and pair it with shiny black leather leggings. Plus some gold jewelry, and I appear more put together than I feel.
Steele strides in as I’m applying mascara.
I glance at him, truly not even surprised that he just let himself in. Boundaries like knocking seem beyond him. He drops a kiss on the top of my head and flops on my bed. He’s dressed in dark-gray slacks and a light-blue button-down shirt and sports jacket, unbuttoned. He looks hot, but I try not to think about that.
After the finishing touches of my makeup are done, I face him and plant my hands on my hips. Asking him about my sweatshirt is on the tip of my tongue. And really, I should ask him—
“When you wear lipstick, all I can think of is smearing it on my dick,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve got to feed me first.”
“I’ll feed you, all right…” He rises, a devious expression flickering across his face. “Come here.”
A shiver overtakes my body. “Steele.”
“Aspen,” he replies. “Do you want to do it here, or under the table at the restaurant?”
My mouth drops open, shocked that he would go there.
But also…
“Naughty,” he breathes, stepping into my space and wrapping his hand around the back of my neck. His fingers digging into my skin sends more tingles down my spine. He leans in and captures my lips with his, his tongue infiltrating my mouth without warning.
I love the dirty, open-mouthed kisses he gives me when I manage to surprise him.
He releases me after a minute, once my toes have curled in my sneakers and my hands have found their way into his hair. Now he’s got my lipstick across his lips, just as I’m sure it’s all over my face, too.
“Fix your lipstick, sweetheart. Then we’ll go.” His voice is rough, low.
Turned on.
Me, too, babe, me, too.
We drive to the restaurant, which is one of the fancier restaurants. It’s on the point that overlooks the lake. Crown Point gets its name from this exact spot. It’s clear today, and warmer than usual. It’s been chilly for the past few weeks, but now the sun is shining, and there’s no need for jackets.
Which is a fabulous break from the past week.
The restaurant has a wall of windows to maximize the lake view, and of course our table is right against one. The white linen tablecloths go all the way to the floor. There are wine glasses and water glasses on the table, as well as two sets of knives and forks.
“This is excessive,” I mutter.
Steele shrugs. “Dad used to take me to places like this all the time. After…”
I wait, but he seems to be done talking.
I lean forward. “After what?”
“After Mom went away.” He looks down, scanning the menu. “Dad didn’t cook, so it was either go out or starve. And he wouldn’t be caught dead at a fast-food place.”
This is the first time I’ve heard him mention his mother.
“What happened to her?”
His dark eyes lift, crashing into mine. And for a second, I see exactly what he must be feeling—misery, hurt, anger. And then it’s gone with a blink, like it was never there before.
“I’ll take you to meet her tomorrow, if you want.”
My mouth opens and closes. It doesn’t really answer any questions, so I nod mutely. He nods back, satisfied with that casual agreement. Like it’s not a big fucking deal or anything.
What am I going to say to her?
Hi, Steele’s mom, I’m his new stepsister and also dating him…
That would go over well.
The waiter approaches, and I stare down at the menu. Everything is expensive and fancy, and I freeze up.
Steele’s foot runs up the inside of my leg. He orders for us both, snapping his menu closed and handing it over. I follow his lead, then shake my head. I don’t know what that was.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I shouldn’t be spending my money on this sort of stuff. I have to figure out how to pay for next semester—”
He snorts. “If you think I’m letting you pay for lunch, you’ve got another think coming.” He glances around, then crooks his finger. “Now, I think you’re ready for your appetizer… don’t you?”
I swallow and follow his gaze around. This section of the restaurant is empty—for now. So maybe that’s why I don’t hesitate to slide off my chair and to my knees, crawling under the table. My heartbeat is thundering in my ears, a dull rushing sound. I push the tablecloth up, letting it pool around his waist and revealing his lower half.
His stance widens, his legs parting to let me get closer. His erection strains against the zipper of his slacks. I undo the button and drag the zipper down slowly, reaching in and pulling his cock out of his briefs. I run my hand over the length of it, my thumb brushing the oozing slit.
“Aspen,” Steele warns from above.
I smile to myself and rise on my knees, leaning over him. I lick him, taking my time. Savoring the appetizer, as he so nicely put it. Since he’s not about to reach under here and force me to choke on it—I’m going to enjoy this the way I want to… and if that includes a little torture, so be it.
He should know all about torture.
When my mouth closes over him, he makes a noise under his breath. A rumbling in his chest. I try not to smirk—no time or room for that, with my mouth filled with him. My lips wrap around his shaft, and I swipe my tongue across his slit. I taste the precum before I suck hard.
Desire and lust rush through me, going straight to my core. I rock my hips in time with the motions of my mouth. My tongue dances under the ridge of the mushroom head, tracing patterns and veins. I take him deeper, forcing him to the back of my throat, and then I pull back again.
I take his balls out, too, cupping them gently.
He shifts, and suddenly his foot is nudging between my legs. Giving me something to grind on—an inch of relief. Something to hold me over.
I lick his shaft, then lower. I drip spit on his balls and take one in my mouth. His thighs tremble, his legs spreading even wider. I repeat until his cock is twitching in my mouth. My jaw aches, but I don’t stop.
Not even when something touches down on the table over my head, and Steele murmurs something about me being right back.
Our food arrived, maybe, or drinks.
I grind harder on his foot, chasing my own pleasure as well as his. The leggings are barely in the way, the fabric sliding between my legs. The tattoo still smarts when I rub too hard, but I think I like that little dose of pain.
“Aspen,” Steele says under his breath. “You’re driving me crazy.”
Good, I think. Because same.
I take him in my mouth, gagging around his length when he touches the back of my throat again. I can barely get him halfway into my mouth without him forcing it. I use my hand to stroke the rest of him, down to the base and back up. I grip him tighter.
He flexes his foot, pressing up into me, and a rising tide of a climax rushes through me. I hum around his dick, my eyes closing. I can’t control the noise that comes out of me, a low moan that is a surefire giveaway of what’s happening here.
He knocks on the table twice.
A second later, his cock jerks. His balls lift and pulse in my palm, and his cum fills my mouth. I swallow it down, then keep my mouth around him. My eyes are still shut, and I stay like that. Perfectly still.
Because I don’t want it to end?
Or because I don’t want to be seen crawling out from under the table?
After a minute, though, I pull away. He slides a white cloth napkin under the table, leaving it on his thigh, and I take it with shaking hands. I wipe my face and dab under my eyes, surprised that they watered so bad. Tears track down my cheeks.
I didn’t even go that hard…
Didn’t I?
I pat his dick and balls dry and tuck him back into his slacks. I left the streaks of dark-pink lipstick behind, though. I do the button and the zipper and run my hand down his thighs. My hands stop just above his knees, and I bow my head forward to rest against him.
My face burns.
“Come on out, sweetheart,” Steele says softly.
He’s going to have to tow me out of here.
And then his chair is scooting back, and the tablecloth lifts. He offers me his hands.
I take them both and let him guide me out, again between his legs. I use his thighs as support to stand, but I’m not on my feet long. He pulls me down on his lap, cinching his arms around me.
“Kiss me,” he orders.
I lick my lips.
“Aspen,” he warns. “Kiss. Me.”
My eyes close, and I lean toward him. His lips touch mine. Part them. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip, and his teeth follow. A quick nip, and then he’s done. He leans back and touches my chin.
I crack my eyes open again, meeting his gaze. He seems… proud. Or content, maybe?
“Tell me, Aspen, is your lipstick on my cock?”
I bite my lip, then nod.
His smile wins out.
“Good,” he says. “It’s going to stay there through the game.”
My heart skips, but he’s already putting me back on my feet and motioning for me to take my seat. It’s a good thing it’s close, because my legs wobble on my way to my chair.
There’s a glass of red wine in front of my place setting, and a basket of bread between us. I reach for the bread, instantly ravenous, but Steele pushes my hand away. He tears off a piece and spreads butter across the surface with his knife. He tilts his head, then points to the seat next to him. It has a better view, arguably… and also puts me closer to him.
So I slip into it, and he makes quick work of putting my drink in front of me.
Then he holds out the bread to me.
I lean forward and bite into it. It’s warm and flavorful, and it bursts across my tongue. I groan and close my eyes, savoring it.
“That good, hmm?” He takes a bite of it.
I open my mouth when he bumps my lips with the bread again, and we finish the piece like that. I take a nervous sip of my wine, absolutely shy for no good reason.
He still makes me nervous.
“What were you and Jacob fighting about?”
Steele lifts his shoulder. “I wasn’t focused.”
“But you’re going to be focused tonight, right?”
“Of course.”
I fiddle with my fork. “Because I could not go—”
“Absolutely not.” He eyes me. “If you even think of not going, I’ll spend the whole game looking for you and wondering where you are. And then I’ll definitely be distracted.”
I crack a smile. “Okay, okay, just checking.”
Our food arrives. I hadn’t paid attention to what he’d ordered for me, which is why I’m surprised to find exactly what I would’ve wanted. An open-faced turkey sandwich drizzled with gravy and cranberry, with a side of roasted potatoes and veggies. He got the same for himself.
We dig in without further conversation, until both of us have taken the edge off our hunger.
“When is the audition?” Steele asks.
“Tuesday.”
So close, and yet it feels like each hour until then will drag. I’ve also reprinted my sheet music and started the laborious process of recreating every stupid notation on them. It’s not as good as it was, but it’ll do. And I still have time before the final performances in December.
“Where is it?”
“The orchestra shares a space with Crown Point Ballet, so it’s in that building.”
Something unexpected crosses his features.
Worry?
“What’s wrong?” I set down my fork.
He shakes his head. “That place just gives me a bad vibe. But your professor is going to be there. It’s not like your stalker is a professor.”
“Yeah, well.” I make a face. “He’s not my stalker, and he’s not my professor, he just happened to hear me play that one time. I got lucky that they were looking for someone. Anyway, if I land this gig, then it’ll help me put some money toward next semester. I might have to take it off…”
“You’re not taking the semester off.” He drops his silverware, staring intently at me.
“I will if I can’t scrounge money to pay for it, since your father cut me off—”
“He may have cut you off, but I haven’t.” He eyes me. “Don’t freak out.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would I freak out?”
“Because I took care of it for you.”
My jaw drops.
He smiles and shakes his head, going back to eating his food like… like that’s nothing. But I’m not smiling. In fact, it feels more like the whole floor has dropped out from under me. He did what?
“Close your mouth, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
My teeth grind together. “What do you mean you took care of it?”
He ignores me.
“Steele.”
“I paid for it.”
“Why?” I screech. My face heats, and I glance around. The lunch service has been slowly filling up, and more than a few tables look our way. I lower my voice and lean toward him. “Why would you do that?”
He finally meets my gaze, and it’s as fierce as mine. “Because you are not leaving me.”
I reel back.
“Me being in school is just to satiate your need to have me close, then?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls.
He grabs my hand and drags me out of my seat, tossing a hundred dollar bill down on the table. I gawk at it for a moment—long enough for him to remember my purse on the back of my chair—and then we’re moving. We weave through the tables. And then we’re outside.
We wrap around the building and get on a footpath that leads to the point. I follow helplessly along behind Steele. The concrete path turns to gravel, then just worn dirt. It pitches upward slightly, ending in a grassy knoll. We crest it, and only then does he stop.
We’re at the point, and he still hasn’t released my wrist. He does whip around, though, and gets in my face. I stare up at him, for a second confused about why he’s the angry one.
“I want you to do whatever the fuck you want,” he snaps at me. “If that’s play piano, then great. If that’s graduating with a degree in art or chemical engineering or fucking astrology, whatever. But just know that you’re going to be taken care of no matter what. I’m going to the NHL. I’m going to make a shit ton of money—I already have a shit ton of money, Aspen. Thirty thousand dollars to keep you in school and with a meal plan is a drop in the bucket. I’d give you more if it helps. I’d give you all of it if I thought for a second that you cared about that.”
My mouth opens and closes.
“I know you don’t, though.” He grasps my upper arms, keeping me steady. “I know you don’t care about money. You care about safety. You care about surviving. But, sweetheart…” His voice cracks. “There’s so much more than that for you.”
Tears fill my eyes.
I wipe them away hurriedly, then glance around. I have the notion to do something reckless after that admission. He wants me happy? I don’t know what that means. I play the piano to escape—but what if there’s nothing to escape from? What if my life is good and full and… carefree?
The way I want that so bad it hurts is a reminder to myself—and a warning.
Good things don’t come to people like me.
I pull away from Steele and approach the edge of the point. There’s another, lesser-used path that curves down and around, to a jumping point. I heard Thalia and the dance girls talking about it one day at lunch. They never did it, but they mentioned how the hockey boys would for initiation.
Suddenly, I want that, too.
A baptism by ice.
I head down the path without a backward glance. I take off my sweater first, letting it flutter out of my hand to the grass. Then my shoes, which I pause to remove my socks and leggings, then stick back on my feet. Until I’m just in my underwear and shoes.
“Aspen—” Steele’s words are snatched away on the wind.
If they can do it, I can.
Right?
The jump-off point is plastered in Do Not Jump! signs. Danger! Rocks below! Yet as I peer down at the murky, blue-green water, I can see where the rocks aren’t.
So I just need to aim for that.
Steele catches my arm.
“Let me be reckless!” I swing around, ready to shove him away.
But he’s stripped, too. Even his shoes.
My gaze trips over his tattoos, his abs. His hand trails down my arm, and his fingers lace with mine.
Together, his grip says.
But he doesn’t move until I do.
Two running steps, and then we’re airborne.
