Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2) (33 page)

“I…I waited,” I say, biting my lip hard, my eyes intent on him as his long lashes lift and his eyes widen on mine. “For you. I…I haven’t given this to anyone. I saved it. And I’m pretty sure I was saving it for you.”

His breath catches once and he exhales slowly, leaving his gaze on me. He lowers his head to the inside of my knee, placing soft kisses all the way up my leg until he’s at my very center.

“This,” he says, running a finger slowly along the waistband of my panties, teasing me by slipping a finger underneath, but never far enough. His eyes boring into mine, he draws a soft line with a barely-there touch from my belly button, over the top of my panties and down to the wet center where he presses his thumb, easing my need and igniting it all at once. “This…is only mine?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

His breathing ragged, his lips fall to my center, and he runs his tongue over the small strip of material, the only thing between us, and my body goes wild in response. The heat of his breath is almost too much to take. I feel his hand sliding along the inside of my leg, then pull aside the center strip, exposing me to him, and my body rushes with heat from blushing and desire. I grip at his pillow, pulling it over my face, biting the material hard as his tongue traces it’s same path, this time no barrier there to stop it from dipping deeper inside me.

“Oh my god, Andrew…” I pant, arching against him. His hand tugs hard, tearing my panties until they’re completely ripped away. Andrew’s tongue caresses me as his thumb presses on the swollen center between my legs until finally his hand slides forward far enough for him to push a finger deep inside, leaving it there as he works me with his mouth. The pressure is so much that I pull my legs up, bending my knees, wanting to hold on, to make this last longer.

Andrew continues to suck and kiss me, letting his other hand find my breasts, running the rough pad of his thumb over each nipple and pulling them back to attention instantly until I cry out with the sensation of my first orgasm. The waves are almost too intense to take, and I pull away on instinct, but Andrew holds me to him, pressing his tongue into me hard, cupping my breasts and pushing his other fingers in and out at an intoxicating rhythm.

As I come down from my high, he kisses his way back up my stomach, worshiping my breasts until he’s completely holding himself over me, his body matched up with mine, his hard cock hot against my skin. He takes himself in one hand, and runs the tip down through my wet and still-pulsing center in long, slow strokes that almost send me over the edge again. The sensation has me raising my hips, begging for him to penetrate me.

“Patience,” he says, his mouth an arrogant grin as he dominates me. Andrew moves to his feet, stepping around to the side of his bed where he slides open his night table drawer to pull out a condom. I watch as he tears it open and slides it over himself, my mind a little worried over his size and how this is all going to feel. We’ve reached the limits of my sexual experience, but I’m also desperate for him to take me beyond them.

Andrew positions himself in front of me again, repeating the same teasing strokes along my center, his cock in his hand as he pauses and pushes just enough against me to have my body completely ready to accept him. Leaning forward, he runs his hand behind my neck, tilting my head back slightly as he kisses me hard, possessively, then drags his hand in a hard line down the side of my body, his thumb grazing my nipple as it passes. He reaches the inside of my thigh and pushes my right leg out, opening me to him more, my left leg following his lead as he guides himself to my entrance. His eyes concentrate on every movement, and I’m completely seduced by the vision of him looking at me like this, of him watching himself slide inside me, slowly.

His movement is slow at first, taking long seconds in one place to let me grow accustomed to his size before sliding back out and entering me again, each time falling deeper and deeper until he finally thrusts forward, filling me completely.

“Oh god!” I cry, arching again, his arms sweeping under me, holding me to him while his hips take over the work of pumping in and out in long, tortuous strokes.

“My dreams, Emma. This is better than my dreams,” he says, his breath hot against my ear.

I wrap my legs around him, searching for ways to feel him even deeper inside, and Andrew responds, his hands moving to my ass, pulling me up into him with every pummel, our pressure meeting, the sweet ache growing and growing with every thrust.

I can feel the sweat beading on my body, and Andrew’s back is moist as his muscles work to hold us together, to send us both over the edge.

“I’m so close, Andrew. Please…just a little more,” I gasp, my teeth grazing his shoulder, my fingers digging into his skin as he rocks into me. The need to release builds until I can no longer breathe, and when I feel Andrew begin to push harder, I know he’s with me, so I let everything go.

“Come for me, baby. Please…come for me,” he growls into my neck. I cry out loud until all I have left in me are soft whimpers of pleasure as I feel Andrew thicken inside me, his breath held as he follows me into bliss.

“Emma! Fuck me, Emma,” he grunts, pulling me into him harder and harder, exploding inside me until all that is left is exhaustion and two satiated souls in love.

Andrew doesn’t still right away, sliding in and out in slow movements, wanting to drain every last moment of pleasure from my body. He finally pulls out of me completely, then kisses my scar softly before whispering against my skin. “For always, Emma Burke. For always,” he breathes.

S
howered
and now nestled deep in Andrew’s sheets and arms and clothes, reality begins to settle in, and I grow still and quiet. For long minutes, Andrew doesn’t ask why, instead content to have me here and hold me, to stroke my hair and press his lips to the back of my head every so often as I lay here in the safest place in the world.

“Do you know that the only time I ever smoked a joint was that one time?” Andrew says, breaking the silence. I swallow hard. “Once. Ha! I’m like the perfect anti-drug campaign.
Don’t do drugs, kids. Even just once could ruin your whole life.”

His joke is the sad kind, and I squeeze his arms, pulling them tighter around me. “I’m sorry, Andrew,” I say, kissing his hand and pressing it against my face.

“Don’t be. I made my choices. I made every single one of them,” he says. I’m not looking at him when he speaks, but there’s something about the timber in his voice that lets me know he’s smiling. Right now—with me—he’s smiling.

“You still shouldn’t have had to go through any of that,” I say, shutting my eyes at the thought of his younger self at the hand of someone hurting him. “They shouldn’t have punished you at all, let alone to that extent.”

“I’m a Harper. We’re
bad seeds,
” he chuckles.

“No. You’re not,” I whisper.

“How you see me,” he says against my neck, leaving a soft kiss there before blowing it away. “That’s what matters.”

His hand moves back up to my hair, and he continues the gentle strokes, combing his fingers through my long waves and letting them fall against my bare arm, my body hugged in the soft cotton of one of his shirts.

“Are you going to tell someone?” Andrew asks, and I turn a little, my head shifting to look at him, not sure what he means. I’ll tell the world about you, about how I love you, Andrew. Why wouldn’t I?

“About Graham,” he explains, my gut sinking the second he utters his name. “I know it’s hard, and I know you want to just forget, but he hurt you, Emma. He can’t get away with that.”

“I know,” I say, letting my face fall back to the pillow, away from him.

“I’ll go with you…to tell someone. We can go together,” he says, and I squeeze him again, so thankful for him, but sick knowing I’m going to disappoint him.

“I can’t,” I say, my eyes shuddering to a close as his arm pulls away from me and he pushes himself up to sit next to me. I suck in a long, painful breath, feeling the bruises on my ribs as I do, as if those injuries mock me. I sit up to face Andrew, but never lift my eyes to his. “He’s Dr. Wheaton’s son. She…she’s my mentor, and she was the one who…” I move my fist slowly to my chest, letting my thumb scratch over the space in the middle where my scar resides.

Andrew understands in an instant, breathing in once, sharply. His head bows and he nods. Slowly leaning to the side, he slides his phone from his small night table, then holds it up to me, his lips pursed, his forehead wrinkled with question. “May I?” he asks, pointing to the camera lens. I pinch my brow, but offer a small nod
yes
. I let my expression fall to nothingness as he clicks a photo of me then lays by my side.

He turns the screen to face us both, sliding his finger over my image, zooming in, the purple around my eye still very much there. I close my eyes remembering the feel of Graham’s hand crashing into me.

“I understand, Em. I swear I do. I just…I thought you needed to see what I see,” he says.

I pull his phone into my hands, zooming the image back out, hoping from farther away the bruise is less noticeable, but it’s not—it’s all I see. I push the small button at the bottom to share the image with me, sending it to myself. Then I move to Andrew’s contacts screen and enter my number, biting my lip as I hand the phone back to him.

“I thought it was about time we exchanged numbers,” I say through a half-hearted laugh. Andrew makes the same sound, pulling his phone in his hands and typing me a message. I read along as he types I LOVE YOU, then slides his phone back onto his table, pulling me into his arms again.

I have him. He’s mine, and I’m his. And we’ve left this wake of destruction, disaster, and remorse all about us to get here, yet I hold onto him tightly feeling somehow justified that it was still all worth everything.

“I don’t want you to fight him,” I exhale, tucking my face into his arms, burying myself into him even more. His body grows rigid—he didn’t realize I knew.

He doesn’t answer, but I feel his chin adjust above my head, his breathing slow, a silent apology.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I finally admit, and he holds me tighter, kissing my head, then whispering one more promise in my ear.

“I won’t,” he says. “I can’t walk away, Emma, but I won’t let him hurt me…or you. I swear.”

I nod
okay
, but stay in my cocoon of his arms, not sure that he can keep this promise. Graham is two different people, and they are both manipulative, each possessing a different kind of charm. And now that I’ve seen both sides, I worry that there’s yet another side I haven’t seen—one that doesn’t live in the rational, human world, and one that holds grudges and seeks revenge at any cost. The thought that Andrew’s exactly that type doesn’t warm my heart either—and I’m afraid when they’re forced together, the destruction will be impossible to come back from.

W
ell that went
about as well as I expected.

I woke up early, leaving Emma a note, then rushed to her apartment before work so I could try and talk with Lindsey. She never unhooked the chain, only opening the door wide enough to gain some distance to slam it closed. I think if my fingers or face had been in the way, she would have used more muscle, too.

I slid the letter under her door anyhow, begging her to meet me after work this morning at the coffee shop on her corner. I figured it would be safe. I didn’t think Emma would walk down this street until she knew it wouldn’t result in a painful run-in with her roommate.

I glance through the window as I walk toward the entrance, and the café is nearly empty, minus one or two students holed up in a booth with their laptops and piles of books. I glance at my watch, which says I’m right on time, then take a deep breath as I walk through the door and prepare for my plan to crash and burn.

“I’ll take a large iced coffee,” I say to the guy behind the counter. He pulls out a cup and writes my order on the side of it, then rings me up on the register. I remove my wallet to pay.

“Add a non-fat soy latte to that,” I hear over my shoulder. I don’t startle, but I definitely breathe. I nod
yes
to the guy, then hand him my card, paying for both orders.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, turning enough to the side to catch her profile. She’s dressed in a business suit, her hair pinned back in a clip, and the look surprises me a little.

“I have an interview. It’s for an internship at the clinic. You get fifteen minutes,” she says through tight lips.

We both wait for our coffees in awkward silence, then I follow her to a small table near the corner windows. Might as well be on display for everyone that walks by; maybe it will keep her from hitting me again.

“Your chin looks like shit,” she says, blowing on her coffee after removing the lid. I chuckle and run my finger along the rough stitches, then pull the lid from my coffee to take a drink.

“Look, I know you didn’t want to come here this morning, so
thank you
. Thank you for coming,” I say, setting my cup down and folding my hands together, my elbows resting on the table.

“I didn’t come for you. I came because you said I needed to know about Emma,” she says. Her tone is angry and clipped, but she admitted she came here for Emma, and that’s all I need to hear.

“Right. Emma,” I say, cracking my knuckles and looking at my hands.

“I swear to god, Drew, if you’re here to tell me you made a mistake, and you’re going to break up with her now, I will punch you again—right in those stitches,” she says, pointing one of her perfectly polished nails right at my chin. I don’t doubt her threat for a second, so I lean back in my seat to give me some distance, and inhale to calm myself and make sure I get through to her—about how much she means to Emma, and how much Emma needs her now.

“That Graham guy, the one she went out with a couple nights ago? He hit her, Linds. That douchebag hit her, and I…I don’t know what else, but I know she fought, and it could have been worse,” I say, my nostrils flaring as the anger boils inside. Lindsey holds her gaze on me, her brow lowering just a touch, her lips pursing tighter, and I can tell that she still loves Emma by the way her breathing turns into a charge of fury.

“What is she going to do?” she asks, her eyes not leaving mine.

I breathe in deeply and push my cup a few inches along the table, wiping away the cold, wet ring it leaves behind on the table. “Nothing,” I say. I feel Lindsey lean forward with the urge to speak, so I keep going. “And I guess there isn’t much she can do. He’s that doctor’s son, and it would make things complicated. Honestly, at this point? You probably know more about that part of her life than I do. I told her she should say something to someone, or at least talk to someone…other than me. She’s just…she’s just going to move on, though, I guess. But I think it would help a hell of a lot if you were around to help her.”

I glance up at her, and she’s still rigid, her mouth a firm line as she blinks and eventually looks down at her own drink. She pulls it to her lips, sipping slowly, and I can see there’s part of her that wants to bend, but I also see the shattered trust and hurt, too.

“I know I’m a broken record, but I swear Lindsey—this entire thing—it’s on me. And
you
were Emma’s only priority. All she wanted was for you to be happy,” I say.

“Then she should have told me the truth. The truth would have made me happy. Knowing my best friend trusted me enough to tell me everything…that’s what would have made me happy,” she says, her voice soft and distant.

“I get that. And I think if Emma could go back, she would. But she couldn’t decide then what would hurt you less. And I didn’t make it easy. I’m just asking for you to be open to the idea of forgiving her. She needs you, Linds. And I think maybe you miss her too,” I say.

Her eyes meet mine for a few seconds before she pulls her wrist up, checking the time again, and tugging her purse close to her body. She takes a large final sip of her drink, plunking it on the table in front of me and dusting the corners of her mouth with a napkin she quickly folds and stuffs inside the empty cup.

“Thanks for the coffee, Andrew,” she says, her mouth tight. “It’s been…well, I’d say it’s been real, but it never was…was it?”

“I’m sorry, Lindsey,” I shrug. She nods once, then slides a pair of sunglasses on her face, turning, leaving, and never looking back.

With my failed attempt with Lindsey behind me, I jog into campus, making sure to make an appearance at my classes for the day. I’ve marked the dates for tests on my calendar, and I never miss those, but it seems I’ve missed a quiz or two in calculus. I’m still getting an A, but it’s by the skin of my teeth, so I make a tentative promise to myself that I’ll show for the rest of my classes this semester. Scholarships are like gold for me, and I have to piece them together—
B’s
don’t really help the cause.

I check my phone obsessively, waiting to hear from Emma, and by the time I’m in my last class for the day, I break, sliding my phone into my lap so I can send her a message. I glance at the photo I sent her first, and the purple around her eye sends a shock through my core, and my fists form on instinct.

I look up, checking the status of where we’re at in my Neighborhood and Urban Poverty class, my last undergrad sociology credit, and a class I took in high school. Turns out they make you take a lot of shit again when you check out of honors college to do a stint in juvie.

Feeling confident that I know where the lesson is, I lean one arm over the small desktop in front of me to make it look like I’m listening, then glance down to type my text.

How are you today?

A few minutes pass, torturous seconds that feel like an hour before she writes back.

I’m good. I just bought my ticket for this hockey game tonight. Don’t tell anyone, but I know one of the players.

I grin like a fool over the fact that Emma’s coming to watch me, but then I think about the long walk she has from the rink back to my apartment—alone—and in a millisecond I’ve zipped up my bag and sprinted from the back door of the lecture hall.

It takes me about five minutes to catch up to where she is, and I see her standing at the stoplight on the busy corner, looking at her phone, waiting for me to write back.

You shouldn’t text and walk that close to the road. You could get hit by a car.

I cross my arms and wait for her to read, and she immediately starts looking for me, her eyes finally finding me and her smile lighting up my world. She takes a few steps away from the curb then types me one more note.

Stalker.

I grin again and write back.

That’s not what you called me last night.

I can see her blush from here. Rather than tease her any longer, I push my phone in my back pocket and jog over to where she’s waiting, not giving her time to say another word as I pull her into me and kiss her so hard that it feels like I’m branding her with my affection.

“Wow,” she says, stumbling back on her feet. “Do all ticketholders get one of those?”

I shrug and nod
yes.
“Trent makes out with the old ladies. I get the hot ones,” I smile. She giggles before punching me lightly in the gut.

“You better not be giving those kisses out for free,” she says.

“Not anymore, Em. Not anymore,” I say, no laughter now.

I sling my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me tightly as we step into the intersection. We make idle chat at first, me asking her about her day, her mine. But I can tell there’s something bigger on her mind, and part of me is worried it’s me.

“Hey,” I say, stopping our walk so she can face me as I lightly run my thumb over her chin. “What’s buggin’ you?”

She looks down, a faint laugh through a frown, then shrugs as she looks back up at me.

“Lindsey wasn’t in class today. I know you said it would just take time, but I was kind of hoping I’d at least see her, ya know?” Her mouth twists into disappointment. I wish I had good news for her, a curtain I could pull back and her life would be perfect on the other side, just waiting for her to step right through. But I don’t, and I
hate
that I can’t cure her anxiety.

“She’ll come back. I know it,” I say, squeezing her close so I can kiss her head. It’s not a lie. I saw it in Lindsey’s eyes, and if I have to keep stalking her just to remind her of what she’s missing, I will.

As we walk up the pathway to my apartment door, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out to read, expecting an update from Trent on what time he wants to get to the rink for pregame. He likes to get there before everyone else, and I usually join him. I hold the door open for Emma and glance at my phone as she passes, my mind not understanding the message at first until I realize who it’s from. It’s Harley. And that fight he had scheduled for me for a few weeks from now—it’s been moved up.

Rich boy wants to show off what he’s got Sunday night. I can’t get a venue, so it’ll be here. The money line is trending big on your favorite round if you know what I’m sayin’.

My stomach rolls when I read his message, and I slow as I trail behind Emma toward my room. My eyes stay on my phone as I follow her through my door, closing it behind us, and my heartbeat is drumming out every other sound as I realize I’m going to have to tell her. I will never lie to Emma—ever.

“So can I wear one of your Tech Hockey shirts? I want to look like I fit in…” She stops talking the instant she turns to face me, the joy from moments ago sucked away into the black hole of doom that I can’t seem to avoid when it comes to all things me-and-Emma-Burke.

She never asks. I don’t wait for her to. She deserves to know, and my gut told me the second she asked me not to fight Graham that I would tell her the minute I got the call. There’s also no way I’m letting her near him—she’ll be safe, here, in my home with Trent, when I fight.

“That was my guy…at the gym. Graham set a date,” I say, glancing back at my phone, sort of hoping that there’s a follow-up saying everything’s been cancelled. I won’t back out—but I wouldn’t exactly be upset if he did at this point.

“When?” she asks, falling to my bed, pulling her knees up and hiding her mouth behind the tops. Damn, I hate that she’s stressed over this or worried. I hate that she’s thinking about Graham. And I hate that bruise on her face. That’s the one thing justifying what I’m going to do.

“Sunday,” I say, my jaw flexing as I swallow. The part of me that wants to protect her hates to tell her any of this.

But I will never lie.

“That’s in two days,” she says, her eyes staring at her kneecaps, her fingers gripping her jean-covered shins.

I move closer, slowly, lifting one foot in my hand, pulling her leg from her grip and taking her shoe off. I rest that foot on the floor and do the same with her other leg. The entire time, her eyes never quite make it to mine. She’s afraid to look at me, and I know it’s because she’s afraid to show me she’s afraid.

I step in between her legs and kneel down, running my hands along her thighs and then around her, hugging her to me, my head resting on her lap.

“I will be okay, Emma. I won’t let him hurt you, and he won’t hurt me. I’m stronger than he is,” I say, and deep down I know I am. He may have me in size, but my heart beats for this girl, and when I have that in my corner, there’s nothing I can’t defeat.

“I don’t trust him, Andrew,” she says, and I feel her body shake once beneath me, but she holds it in, not wanting to cry in front of me. I stand to my feet, taking her hands to pull her to hers, and the second she rises, I sweep her into my arms, sitting with her on my lap. She folds into me, her fit perfect, like everything I’ve ever been missing.

“I’m scared,” she says, her eyes closed, her face pressed into my chest. Her breathing slows, but I feel every rise and fall.

“I’m so scared. I can’t lie to you. I won’t,” she pauses, her voice trailing off. She rolls her head against me, her forehead pressed against my heart, her face still shielded from my view. “If you’re going to stand in a ring with him…I want you to kill him.”

I hold her tightly, and I feel her muscles tense. I feel her anger, and I feel her worry. I kiss her head and run my hands down her back, wanting nothing more than to make her worries disappear and her wishes come true. After a few minutes, I sway her playfully, but when it doesn’t produce a smile, I stop. We are at a depth too deep for small gestures. What she needs now is love, protection, and a guarantee. I promise her the world, but the voice in the back of my head also reminds me who I am.

Good doesn’t usually come to the Harpers.

Andrew is amazing on the ice. He’s always been beautiful to watch out there—the grace with which he skates, such a contrast to the force he can deliver when he wants something badly enough.

He wants to destroy Graham Wheaton. I can see it in his eyes. What scares me is I want him to destroy him too. I want Graham to pay, to repent, to disappear—I want him to vanish from all of my memories. But Andrew can’t make that happen. Nobody can. And the risk that he might lose something bigger than the gamble he’s making in that ring consumes my every thought.