Hard (21 page)

“Protect yourself from what?”

“From him.” I say it without thinking, but my body reacts
to the admission, my heartbeat like rain pattering on a window during
a thunderstorm, my breath hitching in my chest.

“What do you mean?” he says.

I shrug and run my fingers through my hair and behind my ears and
across my jaw. I glance at Ryder through my long bangs, then look
away.

“Why do you have to protect yourself from him?” His voice
is quiet, calm and comforting.

“Sebastian can be sort of…” I stop, trying to
think of the right way to encapsulate his behavior in a word.
“Temperamental.”

“Temperamental,” Ryder repeats. The muscles in his jaw
tense. “Like how?”

“Just…” I exhale loudly. “He gets angry.”

“He yells?”

“Not really. Other people might hear that and then they’d
think he’s undignified,” I say. I cross my arms. “God
forbid they know the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” he says.

I shake my head.

“Did he hit you?

I turn my head and stare at the wall, letting my eyes go out of
focus. A second passes or a minute or eternity, I can’t tell,
and I can’t look at Ryder. I have never told anyone.
“Sometimes,” I say. “Sometimes it was…other
things.” I can’t continue.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he says, his tone even but
tense, like he’s reciting a well-known fact that no one likes
to admit is true. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

I wipe away the tears on my cheeks and reach for him, taking his
hands. “No, you’re not going to do anything. That’s
what he wants. He wants other people to be as angry as he is,”
I say. “And I don’t want him to get anything he wants
ever again.”

“Is he still in Atlanta?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “After you left, I
told him to leave me the hell alone last night and I haven’t
seen or heard from him since. I didn’t even know he was here
til he showed up at Altitude.”

“If I can find him, I’m gonna smash his face in.”

“I’m telling you, forget him. He thrives on reaction, so
the best thing to do is not have one,” I say, my voice breaking
as the memories flood back. It took me a lot of bruises to figure
that out, and the thing is: it doesn’t even always work. “I
just want him out of my life, and if that means ignoring what he did
to me, then I’m gonna ignore it. Because then I’m
ignoring him. At least until I get a divorce lawyer.”

Ryder tucks my hair behind my ear. “I can make some calls. See
if we can’t expedite the papers you need.”

I cock my head. “You know divorce attorneys in London?”

“I know a lot of people, tiger.”

I nod, and for the first time in at least twenty-four hours, I smile,
just a little. “Thanks.”

Ryder pulls me to him. I rest my head on his chest, under his chin.
“He’s never going to hurt you again,” he says. “And
I know you can look after yourself, but you don’t have to do it
alone now. I’m here to protect you, too.”

He kisses the top of my head, and I close my eyes, so tired suddenly,
but not just from last night’s sleeplessness. I feel exhausted,
like I’ve been walking backwards for two years and finally, I’m
home.

CASSIE

I roll over in Ryder’s bed, still half asleep and fully in his
arms, soft sunlight just starting to shine outside the glass balcony
doors.

“Hi,” he whispers, hugging me into him tightly, his eyes
still closed.

I touch his face, running my hand across his cheekbone, down his jaw,
brushing under his bottom lip. When he kisses my fingertips, my whole
body warms, and instinctively, I press my hips against him. He
presses back, his morning erection nudging between my thighs. We’re
undressed under the sheets, just like always when we sleep together,
naked and vulnerable, and yet I feel so safe with him at the same
time. There’s nothing to hide behind when I’m with Ryder
like this, and after our talk last night in the gym, I know now
there’s no need to hide anyway.

We lie in the middle of his gigantic bed. I try to imagine how we
look from above tangled together like this, the peachy tones of skin
standing out from the white of his sheets, a burst of color from his
sleeve tattoos. His arm is draped across my shoulder, and he reaches
up to stroke the back of my head.

“I love waking up with you,” he says.

I run my hands across his taut side muscles, down to his ass. “Good,”
I say. “I love being here.”

“Maybe you should plan to stay over all week,” he says.
“Just in case.”

“In case what?”

He opens his eyes and gazes at me. For a few seconds he says
nothing, his face long with worry. “We don’t know where
Sebastian is.”

It’s true. I’m hoping Sebastian’s recent radio
silence means he got the message Sunday night and that our encounter
then was the final chapter of our horror story. I sigh and kiss
Ryder’s forehead. “But we know he’s not at
Altitude, where I’ll be with you the whole day after I run home
and change clothes.”

“Leave your car here and I’ll take you to your house.”

“No, that’s okay,” I say. “I’m meeting
Shelby later so I’ll need my car.”

Ryder raises onto his elbow, resting his head in one hand. Even
relaxed, his torso is tight and sculpted, and I don’t fight my
impulse to touch it, my fingertips tracing the sexy lines of muscle.
“Then I’ll follow you to your house and wait for you,”
he says. He puts his other hand on my waist, drawing me into him. “I
don’t want you to be there alone.”

Although I don’t want him to worry, he’s probably right
that I would be there by myself. Jamie keeps unpredictable hours. He
might not even be home from going out last night.

Still, Sebastian’s already controlled too much of my life and
I’m not letting him control Ryder’s now, too. Any power
Sebastian had over me or the people around me stopped when I got on
the plane to come home, and it was officially over last night when I
finally told Ryder why I left. Sebastian was in charge because he
made me afraid to spill our secret. But I’m not afraid anymore.
And the secret is out, asshole.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. I comb my fingers through
Ryder’s thick hair. “I promise.” I kiss him, not
wanting to spend one more moment naked with Ryder doing anything but
being naked with Ryder, and from the way his tongue flicks against
mine, he seems to agree. My center buzzes with heat as he runs his
hand up my ribcage, across my breasts, and I snuggle closer to him,
his hard cock pushing against me. “Mr. Cole,” I say, my
teeth lingering on his bottom lip, “are you going to make us
late for work?”

“One
of the benefits of being the boss, tiger, is that no matter what time
I clock in, I’m never late,” he says. His hand drifts to
my ass. “And if you come in with me, you won’t be
either.”

“What
if I come underneath you?”

“Even better,” he says, and I smile as he lifts his body
to lower himself between my open legs, guiding his stiffness into my
wet opening. I arch my back, breathing into the feeling of him inside
me, the fullness so familiar but also surprising each time, the same
way a sunset is always beautiful, even though you’ve probably
seen one every day of your life.

He takes my hands and stretches them above my head, holding my wrists
to the pillow as his thrusts his cock into me slowly, deeply, the tip
of it touching just the right place inside, teasing. My legs wrap
around his hips, cradling him, pulling his body onto mine, all his
weight on top of me, and I’m trapped under him, or protected by
him, or maybe they’re the same thing when you trust someone.
When he actually cares about you and you care about him. When you
don’t fear that he’ll use his strength for anything other
than keeping you happy, keeping you safe. If this is what it’s
like to be Ryder’s captive, feeling the smoothness of his firm
abs brushing my belly as he rocks in and out of me, lock me up and
throw away the key. I surrender.

He releases my wrists and, taking me by my hips, turns me over onto
my hands and knees. His cock glides in and out of my opening from
behind, his hands cupping my breasts, gently pinching my nipples. He
folds over me, resting his front on my back, and I can feel his
heartbeat against my skin, rapid and even, like he’s running a
race, and he’s winning.

“Forget Altitude,” he says. “This is the only work
I want to do today. Everyday.”

“Fucking me is work?” I say, the words barely voiced, my
breath raspy. We both sit back on our knees, the backs of my thighs
on the front of his, and I slide up and down his hardness.

“Not hardly, tiger,” he says. He reaches across my waist,
rubbing his fingers against my clit, and I open my knees wider,
giving him full access. “Fucking you is paradise.”

He presses his thick cock right into the place inside me where I need
it to be, where I love for it to be, while he moves his hand quickly
against my clit, and I lean back against his chest, my head on his
shoulder. He kisses my neck and whispers in my ear. “I need
you.”

His admission sparks something in me and I come and come and come. He
wraps his free arm tightly around me, like he’ll never let me
go.

***

Maybe because most of my life I was busy working at my dad’s
auto shop, or maybe because I was a little bit of a tomboy growing
up, somehow I have managed to miss the whole yoga movement. Never so
much as corpse-posed until tonight when Shelby took me to her class.
Or actually, I guess I have, but I always just called it dozing off.

Post-workout, we walk down the block for smoothies.

“My treat,” Shelby says, “for devirginizing you.”

“How chivalrous,” I say, and she bows dramatically as we
walk into the shop.

“So would you do it again?” she says.

“I think so,” I say. “I was surprised at how tight
my muscles were.”

“Well, you’ve had a lot going on,” she says. “We
carry that tension around with us, even if we think it’s
invisible.”

I nod. Through the Altitude grapevine, Shelby heard that something
had happened between Ryder and me Sunday night, but she didn’t
know what. I filled her in while we waited for the class to start,
even telling her about the final straw: two nights before I left,
when Sebastian and I had a fight, a dumb, stupid, meaningless fight,
about the way I folded his t-shirts (spoiler alert: I was doing it
“wrong”) and he threw me into the bedroom wall. I managed
to catch myself that time, turning in mid-air to land on my hands, my
head safely pulled away. There were barely any bruises, which was the
way Sebastian liked it. He didn’t want me to have too many
souvenirs to help me remember what happened. And he didn’t like
leaving any evidence.

Around us, the studio started to crowd with people, the space filling
with chatter. But Shelby stayed quiet. She shook her head. “I
don’t even know what to say.” She leaned over and hugged
me, and I wondered how different my life in London would have been if
I’d just known someone who could be a friend. If Sebastian
hadn’t made sure to isolate me so that no one even knew I
existed in the city.

Apparently he called me while we were in class. I saw three
voicemails from
Blocked
in the queue, but I ignored them and
tried to forget they were there.

The smoothie place is small, just a juice bar, really, and waiting in
line I realize I recognize the back of the head of the guy ordering.
“What’s Cash doing here?” I say.

“Where?” Shelby asks, glancing around.

“Up there,” I say. “Getting something very, very
green.” Taking his smoothie, Cash turns toward the door—and
us.

“Well, hello, ladies,” he says, his cheeks dimpling as he
sips from his straw.

“What are you doing in this part of town?” Shelby says.

“Heard there was a good yoga studio nearby,” he says.

“You’re doing yoga in jeans and a t-shirt?” I say,
taking a step forward as we move ahead in line.

“Don’t judge, Cassie,” he says. “Everyone’s
practice is their own.”

Shelby and I raise our eyebrows at each other and shrug. We give the
cashier our order—blueberry-banana for me, coconut strawberry
for Shelby—and Cash waits by the door until we get our drinks.

The three of us walk out into the warm night air. It’s still
light out into the evening hours, but not as late at night as it was
when I first got home. The days are definitely getting shorter now.
Summer will be ending soon, and I’ll miss it, though I’m
looking forward to fall in the South again, all the lush green trees
turning red and orange and yellow, the smell of pine cutting through
the chilly air. Bundling up for barbecues and seeing your breath in
the early morning, and, of course, University of Georgia football. In
England, the changing of seasons was both a relief and a heartbreak
for the same reason: I often felt like I was just waiting for time to
pass, like a prisoner marking off days on the cell wall, glad they’re
behind her, but a little sad that they didn’t mean anything
either.

But now, strolling down the street of my hometown with friends, a
little sweaty, a little tired, but a little energized, too, I realize
for the first time in a long time I’m just happy in the moment.
And that’s a relief. No more heartbreak.

As we walk back toward the yoga studio, where Shelby’s car is
still parked, Cash tells us about his idea to open an alcoholic juice
bar. “The drinks would be like these, but with shots.”

“Like a tequila sunrise,” Shelby says.

“Or a Cape Cod,” I say.

“Bloody Marys,” Shelby says.

“Yes, all those drinks exist, but I’m talking about
making them really good,” Cash says, shaking his head in
exasperation. “Like, freshly squeezed juice.”

“So, like, healthy but also you’ll get drunk,”
Shelby says.