Set Me Free (10 page)

Standing on my tiptoes, I slid my hands into his hair and kissed him lightly on the lips. I moved lower, kissing the strong lines of his throat, undoing the first button on his shirt and pressing my lips to the hollow of his collarbone. He groaned again, and, my pulse racing, I undid the next button and kissed his chest through the lightweight fabric of his undershirt.

“I’ve been dying to see you with your shirt off again,” I murmured, undoing the next button.

“What?” he breathed. “Really?”

“Really.”

“All you had to do was ask,” he said, with a shaky laugh. I grinned. Together, we took off his button-down, dropping it on the floor by our feet. Just as he had at the beach, he lifted me into the air. This time, he sat me down on the counter, knocking a wine glass to the floor. He didn’t seem to notice it shatter. He was staring, fixated, at my crystal quartz necklaces, which were luminous in the low light.

“I like these,” he murmured, running his thumb along the necklaces’ star-like spikes. “And this.” He traced the neckline of my dress, the rough pad of his thumb grazing the tops of my breasts. When he reached the cap sleeve, he slipped it off my shoulder, exposing my lime-green bra strap and making me shiver with longing. He kissed my bare shoulder gently, then drew the tip of his tongue up the side of my neck. He nipped my ear, and my heart skipped a beat. I loved that little bit of roughness, mixed in with all his gentleness.

Slowly, inexorably, I brought my hands behind me and unzipped the top half of my dress. The sleeves fell down to my elbows, and the neckline slipped over the cups of my bra until it came to rest at my waist.

“Oh, God.” Owen traced a fingertip along the inside of my breast. “God, you are beautiful.”

Freeing my arms from my sleeves, I took hold of Owen’s T-shirt. He let me pull it up over his head and toss it onto the floor next to his button-down. I couldn’t help staring at his broad, muscled chest, with its downy, golden hair. The flat lines of his stomach. The indentations in his hips that disappeared into his jeans. My mouth went dry. “I have to paint you like this sometime.”

He grinned. “Like what, harder than rock?”

“That, too,” I said, smiling even as my pulse quickened. I slid my hands up his sides to rest on his chest.

“Owen…”
I want you.

His gaze met mine. His eyes held so much desire they made me blush.

I need you.

“Come upstairs with me.” His voice was rough and strained.

I was too wound up to speak. I nodded instead.
Yes.

Releasing a tight breath, he scooped me up off the counter, taking me into his arms like a rescued princess. I laughed in delighted surprise, loving his warm, furred chest against my bare skin. I looped my arms around his neck and let him carry me up the stairs.

On the landing, he paused to nudge his bedroom door open with his foot. That moment of delay was enough to make me remember where I was.

Her name fluttered through my mind—
Suzanna, Suze, Beloved By All.

We should have stayed downstairs, maybe moved to the couch. Now I was left wondering how well Suze had learned what he’d liked in bed over the three years they’d spent together. That same frustrating, inexplicable sadness opened up in my chest. It wasn’t fair of me. I knew Owen wasn’t mine. He’d never even been Jenny’s. After all these years, he still belonged to Suze. The locked room across the landing was proof enough of that.

He let the door swing shut behind him, still holding me in his arms, and walked to the side of his huge bed. Carefully, he lowered me onto the mattress, toed off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed beside me. Propping himself up on his elbow, he trailed his knuckles lightly across my cheek.

“Miranda,” he murmured, “if you change your mind…or if there’s anything you don’t like…” His dark gold brows tightened. The lust in his eyes was dampened by concern.

I could call this off. Tell him it was too soon, that he was still too in love with Suze.

I wondered if he almost expected me to change my mind—not because of Suze, necessarily, but because he didn’t expect to be wanted. To be cherished. Even though there was nothing I craved more than to cherish him.

“I haven’t changed my mind.” Maybe that made me crazy. I was pretty sure it did. Threading my fingers through his messy blond hair, I decided I didn’t care. “I want you. Your mouth, your hands. Your cock. All of you.”

Your heart.

“Jesus, M.,” Owen whispered, sliding his knee between my thighs and bringing his mouth down to mine. He nipped my lower lip this time, leaving me dizzy with lust. Taking hold of the hem of my dress, he tugged it up over my hips until the lower half of the dress met the upper half at my waist.

Owen caught sight of my thigh-high stockings and froze, his skin flushing darker red. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “How did you know?”

“I saw the way you looked at my tights that day at lunch,” I said, extremely pleased with myself, my whole body singing with desire. “You like them?”

“God, yes.” The muscles in his jaw clenching, he sat up and slipped his fingers under the top of the tights. The elastics pinned his fingers against my skin. These tights were the kind that stayed up without garters, though I had bought the other kind, too. I’d always loved lingerie—it made me feel sexy, powerful. As far as I was concerned, the more lacy designs and bright colors it had, the better. Rhys had never liked it—too slutty, he said—so I’d promised myself I’d get a collection of my very own.

If Owen liked it, so much the better.

My stomach tightened at the sight of him kneeling between my legs. A bead of sweat shimmered on his chest. Slowly, he slid his palm up my leg to my hip. Lowering his head, he kissed the path he had just traced: from the top of my thigh-high along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh to my panties, which clung to my skin, wet through. I arched my back, already breathing hard. He kissed me through the fabric, his mouth gentle. He was still moving slow. Still checking to make sure I wanted him, when I’d never wanted anyone more.

“Owen, please,” I begged.

He licked me through the fabric, the material wonderfully rough against my sensitive skin. “Oh—
ohh
—” I moaned, as he tugged my underwear to the side and pushed two of his big fingers inside me. He licked me again, this time with the full heat of his mouth directly on my skin, and his fingers—God, he felt amazing, and I’d been so desperate for him for so long. After just a few more strong strokes of his tongue, the orgasm rushed over me like a tide, leaving me gasping and squirming on the bed.

“You are so gorgeous,” he growled, leaning over me with his weight propped up on his elbows to kiss me hard on the mouth.

I reached for his jeans, dying to get them off him.

“Wait—hold that thought.” He rolled off me and got off the bed. I sat up, admiring the muscles in his shoulders and back as he crossed the bedroom to his closet. He pulled a box of condoms down from the top shelf, but instead of bringing one back with him, he brought over the entire box.

I raised my eyebrows. “Ambitious.”

“With you? Realistic.”

“For the love of God, take your pants off.”

He grinned at me as he shucked off his jeans, followed by his surprisingly preppy boxers. I’d been expecting what, flannel? I wanted to tease him about it, but couldn’t. He was distractingly beautiful.

“Your turn,” Owen said. “Lose the dress. But not the tights.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, smiling, as I took off my necklaces, pulled the dress over my head, and unclipped my bra. I shimmied off the panties next, leaving just the thigh highs, like he’d said.

“Mmm. You look like a fucking pin-up girl.” He climbed onto the bed, caught my wrists in his hands, and pulled me in for a kiss. His cock pressed against my thigh, making me instantly wet again.

“Owen…” Once again, I was close to begging, but he wasn’t hesitating anymore. He reached for the box of condoms and pulled one free. Once he had it on, he eased me backwards onto the bed, pinning my arms above my head.

“Oh,” I gasped, as he started to push inside me. “A little at a time, I think. You are…very big.”

He didn’t respond except to groan into my hair, but he held back, waiting for me to accept him.

“Yes,” I moaned, as soon as I could. “More. All of you.”

He pressed the rest of the way inside me, and the breath I’d been holding escaped in a shaky sigh. Owen, mine, at last. I felt like I’d been waiting for him for years, and now I had him. Even if I didn’t have his heart, this was still so good. So right.

He switched his grip on my wrists to just one hand, and with his free hand he caressed my waist and hip, my tights, before moving back to where I wanted his touch most. He stroked me there gently while he thrust in and out. This time, it happened more slowly; instead of a tide, it was like honey, liquefying under his warmth. When I finally came, I cried out against Owen’s neck, trembling, my wrists twitching in his grip.

He held me tight through the final throes of my release, pressing his mouth to my temple. I felt his body tense over me, heard his breath catch hard. He shuddered, groaning, his hand clenching tighter around my wrists. Overwhelmed by his strength, his beauty, I kissed as much of him as I could reach.

After a few final spasms, his muscles relaxed. He sank down onto me, his face buried in my hair. I loved his full weight pressed against me, but he was so much bigger than me that it was already hard to breathe. Seeming to know that, he pulled out, took care of the condom, and sprawled beside me on the bed, turning my face towards his so he could kiss my temple again, my cheekbone, my eyelids.

“M., can I ask you something?” he murmured, moving on to my neck.

“Course.” I took one of his hands in my much smaller ones and brought it to my heart.

“Is this a dream?” His eyes were closed, his lips still pressed up against the curve of my neck. “Are you sure you’re real?”

I grinned, feeling like I could burst from happiness. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I’ve been wishing for you for so long,” he said softly.

“Such a hopeless romantic,” I said, trying to tease him, though my eyes stung with joy. “You didn’t even know I existed.”

“You’re right. I could never have imagined you.”

I
woke
up breathing in Owen’s scent. I reached for him, but the bed was empty. A note rested on Owen’s cold pillow.

I set the note on the nightstand next to my crystal quartz necklaces and told myself not to feel so upset. He owned his own business. I was sure he had to work odd hours sometimes, including Sundays.

Besides, it wasn’t like we’d discussed it. Maybe he’d expected a chaste kiss and goodbye promptly after dinner. Instead, I’d unzipped my dress on his kitchen counter. We’d only just met; we’d only gone on a few dates, if you could call them dates. And yet it had all felt so right. What he’d said to me afterwards had been so sweet… I’d thought he might be falling for me. Even though I knew better.

I slid out of bed and almost stepped on my dress, which was folded neatly on the floor, on top of my shoes. My handbag sat beside the little bundle. He must have gotten my things together before he left for work, so I wouldn’t have to go hunting around his house. He was being nice. He was definitely not trying to get rid of me.

Really.

I pulled on my clothes and tiptoed across Owen’s plushy beige carpet. On the landing, I hesitated, staring at the door to Suzanna’s room. The brass doorknob gleamed against the dark wood. Before I realized what I was doing, I’d turned the doorknob as hard as I could.

The door popped open, and I stumbled inside with a gasp. There was no way I could’ve broken it, and Owen was too careful to ever leave this room unlocked. I jiggled the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. It was locked…still? Again?

I shouldn’t go in. Even though he’d shown me what he kept in here, going into this room without him violated his trust. It was wrong. Beneath me.

Still, I stared into the empty room, biting my lip. The heavy curtain hid all signs of morning light. It was so cold in here I half-expected to see my breath, as if I’d opened a door to the night sky.

I set my handbag on the floor as a doorstop and edged into the room, shivering in my short dress. Instead of going straight to Suzanna’s portrait, some impulse drew me to the cello in the corner. Only a few specks of dust marred the striated, reddish-gold varnish. Unable to resist, I plucked a string. The warm, rich tone reverberated in my bones. I was not much of a musician, but even I could tell that Owen tuned this. I knew how meticulous he was; I shouldn’t be so surprised. But from the way he’d talked about it, I had thought that this was his cello’s final resting place.

I sat down on the floor, imagining Owen sitting behind the cello with his long legs stretched out to either side. He would make even a huge instrument like this look small. I could imagine him bowing his head, as he turned each peg, bit by bit, to tune each string—until it was perfect.

All the while, Suzanna’s hazel eyes would stare down at him.

I looked up at her, my hands curled in my lap. I could see her perfectly from here. Owen must have set the room up like this on purpose.

Three years. I absorbed Suzanna’s clear eyes and shining mouth. Even in the darkness, she was striking.

They had dated for three years.

Owen kept her portrait here, in this locked, cold room, because he had loved Suzanna while she was alive, and he still loved her.

I scrubbed my face with my hands. I
knew
that. I’d known that from the moment I first walked into this room. But I’d thought… I’d
hoped
he could find a way to care about me. He’d told me it was easy being with me, that he forgot himself around me. He had whispered into my skin at the beach:
it is so good.
And last night…

Last night was sex. Great sex, but nothing more than that, no matter how sweet Owen’s pillow talk was.

I glanced back up at Suzanna. Her cool eyes stared back at me. Nothing about her looked easy or simple. Her expression was all temper and brilliance—a brilliance I’d never have. I couldn’t compete with her. I knew that, sitting on her floor beside Owen’s cello. I’d always known it. If I wanted to be with him, I’d have to accept being second to her forever. My things would be stuffed into one neat little pile, while Suze got her own room.

* * *

L
ater that morning
, I took a long drag off a cigarette and tried to sort out my thoughts. I’d bought a new pack on my drive home from Owen’s, but it wasn’t helping.

My phone rang. I flinched, the way I always did, only to suddenly realize that it might be Owen. I scrambled up from the breakfast bar to dig it out of my purse, spilling receipts and drink napkins all over the floor.

The caller was my old friend, Rosa. We’d grown up down the street from each other, but I hadn’t talked to her since I’d moved to Connecticut with Rhys.

Unless it was Rhys?

I dismissed that idea as quickly as it came. Unlike Stephanie at Annette’s café, Rosa had actually been my friend. She would never let Rhys trick me like that, no matter how much time had passed between us.

“You answered,” Rosa said. “Good. I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, inexplicably hurt. “It’s been a long time—”

“I know. It’s about your boyfriend. He’s here, and he’s been going around, asking about you.”

“My boyfriend?”

“Rhys.”

“Oh, right.” How could I have thought, even for a second, that she meant Owen? “Rhys is where? In Florida?”

“Yeah, he’s got one of your old address books or something. He’s been driving around to everybody’s houses, talking to them or their parents or whoever is home.”

“He’s talking to who?”

“You know, everybody. The old group: Luz, Everett, Johnny, everybody.”

“Why is he talking to them?”

Rosa sighed impatiently. “Don’t you
know
, Miranda? He’s looking for you.”

I couldn’t speak, could do nothing but shudder with horror. He was hunting for me, as if I were a fugitive.

On the other side of the line, Rosa clicked her long fingernails. A small, overwhelmed part of me wondered what her manicure looked like. We used to be the Florida Fashionistas, rebelling against Florida’s obsession with flip-flops and sweatpants. I missed that. I missed her.

“You know I am not going to judge you for who you date, Miranda,” Rosa said, “but I am not going to lie to you, either,
sabes
? That man is one scary motherfucker. He got my mom to tell him where I live, and then he came to my apartment. He said he knew I would be hiding you. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and you hadn’t even told me you left him. He said…”

She trailed off.

“He said what?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“He said he knew how to hurt me. If I didn’t tell him the truth.”

Oh, God.

I wasn’t sure if I said it out loud or not, but it didn’t seem to matter. Rosa’s voice was shaky when she spoke again. “Miranda, what is going on? Did you leave him or what?”

“Yeah…I left him.”

“And now what? You’re in Florida? Because if you are, you had better leave quick, or call the police, or something…”

“I’m not in Florida.”

“Oh. Okay.” I could feel her desire to ask me where I was, but she didn’t. She clicked her nails again instead. “I’m glad you’re not anywhere near that guy…but I’m still worried about you.”

I smiled sadly. “Thanks. That’s sweet.” I paused, then added impulsively, “I’ve missed you.”

“
You’ve
missed
me
? You’re the one who moved to Connecticut all of a sudden. It’s been a year. You haven’t called, you aren’t online anymore…”

“Rhys doesn’t like social media,” I said automatically.

Rosa was stonily silent.

“I’m sorry.” I winced. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why I let any of this happen.”

“It’s not your fault. He’s a dirtbag. You didn’t know.”

I should have known from the moment I set eyes on him. “I’m sorry he said all that stuff to you.”

“You should tell the police, wherever you are, and get a restraining order against him. My brother Emilio is a lawyer now, you know. You want me to call him?”

I hesitated. I’d known Emilio forever—he was brash and loud and used to pinch my butt on the school bus. I couldn’t imagine telling him about Rhys.

“That’s okay,” I told her. “I’ll figure it out.”

I had to go to the police. I knew that. But when I tried to imagine going to the station and talking to Officer Not-Rhys or one of the other officers, I felt only wave after wave of sickening fear and dread. They would side with Rhys—they would tell me to go back, that I was exaggerating, that I should give him another chance.

“I have to go to class,” Rosa said. “You call me, okay? And be safe. Let me know if you change your mind about Emilio.”

“You’re going to class? I thought you graduated college.”

“I did. I’m in medical school at UF.”

“Oh, Rosa! You’re in medical school! I’m so happy for you!” It had always been her dream to be a doctor.

She chuckled. “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll tell you all about it next time you
call
me, all right?”

“All right.”

We hung up, and my brief joy faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by loneliness.

My head in my hands, I stared down at my phone’s dark screen. I’d been hoping, so much, that it was getting better. That he was forgetting about me. Some of his texts and voicemails were still scary—
I will find you. I will make you come home—
but others were normal, almost innocuous.
Read a story in the paper about a painter and thought of you. Had to take your wreath down now that it’s getting warmer out.

I had never, in a million years, expected Rhys to threaten my old friends. I’d never seen him get angry at anyone but me, not even the valet who’d dinged his car. He’d always kept his rage tightly bottled up.

I had thought I could predict what he would do, but now I knew I couldn’t.