Hold Me Close Page 14

  After a minute or so, Heath leaves the bathroom and returns to press something soft into Effie’s hand. It’s a dish towel, folded into a rectangle. She looks at him.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Heath tells her.

  “Go out of here.” Effie waits until he leaves, then stands to tuck the towel between her legs. She pulls her panties up to hold the towel in place, and another sob leaks out of her. It’s worse than a diaper.

  She tips the last few drops of water from the gallon jug into her palms to wash her hands and hopes that Daddy will bring them more water when he comes back. In the other room, Heath looks up expectantly when she comes out of the bathroom. He looks at her face, not between her legs. Effie notices that, and if there’s a moment when she starts to think of Heath as something other than a stranger she’s been forced to live with, it’s right then. When he is more than kind to her. When he helps her not be ashamed of something she can’t help.

  * * *

  “Effie. Hey. Effie.” Heath’s voice drew her back to this room, this reality, and out of that basement.

  Blinking, Effie let him turn her. He gently took the brush from her cramping fingers and set it down. Effie looked at her hands, encrusted with paint. The colors had blended and blurred, but there were hints here and there of individual shades. She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the rubbery dried texture in some places, still-slick in others.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “It’s late. I made sure Polly got a shower and brushed her teeth before she went to bed.” Heath let his hands run down Effie’s arms until he could lightly circle her wrists before letting her go. “Is it finished?”

  Effie turned to look at the painting. It was bigger than most of her other work. It would be a bitch to ship, if she could find someone to buy it. Naveen was going to go ape-shit, she thought and smiled with a sudden, fierce brightness that nevertheless felt as if it twisted her mouth into a grimace. She hadn’t sent him anything this good in a long time.

  “It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “But I’m not sure that it’s finished.”

  “You want something to eat? You were at it for hours.” Heath tapped her shoulder to turn her attention back to him, and like a woman waking from a dream, Effie turned.

  She blinked, really seeing him. With a faint shake of her head, she sighed. “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Tired? Let’s get you to bed.”

  “I’m covered in paint.” Effie looked down at herself. She wore yoga pants and a white wifebeater tank top that stuck to her bare skin with paint and emphasized the fact she’d taken off her bra hours ago, when she’d been painting hard. “I need a shower first.”

  As always in the aftermath of painting something that had truly inspired her, she felt fragile, delicate, the Little Mermaid walking with her steps like knives. She wasn’t hungry, but she should at least drink something. Her mouth was parched, lips dry, tongue like sand. Yet she couldn’t make herself move, not yet, still caught up in the power of creating something she knew, she fucking knew to the core of her soul, was really art.

  Heath brushed the hair out of her eyes and rested his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs stroked briefly along the sides of her neck. “So, let’s get you a shower.”

  She stumbled on the step from the porch into the den, her legs aching from standing in essentially one position for so long, but Heath was there to hold her up. One hand snaked around her waist, guiding her. Through the kitchen, down the hall, past Polly’s half-closed door, where they both paused to peek inside.

  “I love her so much,” Effie whispered.

  Heath’s fingers tightened on her hip. “I know you do.”

  In her bathroom, he pulled her tank top over her head, and though he gave a soft intake of breath at her bare breasts and hardening nipples, he didn’t touch them. He helped her step out of her yoga pants, at first bending, then going to his knees to push the material over her ankles and off her feet. Head bent, he let himself lean forward a little to press his face to her thigh. Effie’s fingers trailed over his hair, her body already reacting to the idea of him kissing her there, but Heath let only his fingertips skate up the backs of her thighs for a second or so before getting to his feet. He didn’t look her in the eyes as he turned on the shower and tested the water before stepping aside so she could get into the shower.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Effie said as she got into the water a minute too early. She shivered at the lukewarm spray, rapidly warming. In another minute it would be too hot, scalding her. She tipped her face into the spray, already knowing his answer.

  “I want to make sure you get to bed all right.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Effie told him. She took a mouthful of water and spit it out, eyes closed, hands flat on the shower’s tile wall. She didn’t need to see him to know he’d stayed within arm’s reach. She could feel him with every part of her. “Just tired.”

  He left her alone. She’d have stayed under that hot water forever, if she could. Somehow there could never be enough of it for her. Too many years fighting to bathe in cold water from a jug, running water a luxury, hot running water a reward for unspeakable acts she’d never had to perform. There were days she showered three or four times, simply because she could. Tonight, though, knowing the clock was ticking toward morning and she would have to be up and awake to get Polly off to school, Effie couldn’t allow herself to indulge in anything longer than the time it took to scrub herself clean of the paint.

  The bedroom was dark, but she didn’t need light to navigate. She’d towel dried her hair but left it hanging over her shoulders and down her back, and the tickle of it between her shoulder blades became an itch that spread throughout her entire body. Naked, Effie took several careful steps, sliding her feet as had become her habit so long ago so she didn’t step on something sharp. Heath was a shadow, but just as she had in the shower, she didn’t need to see him to know where he stood.

  She kissed him.

  She ran her hands up the front of his shirt to link her fingers behind his neck, not caring if she stained his shirt or his skin with the leftover paint. His mouth opened, as she’d expected, but his hands went to her hips and pushed her gently back, which she did not. Frowning, Effie moved to kiss him again.

  Heath turned his face just enough that her kiss skidded past his lips. They stayed that way for a moment or so, until Effie reached between them to cup his crotch. He was already hard, his cock hot and pressing the denim. He sighed when she did that. He shivered. But he didn’t kiss her.

  “No?” Effie whispered, moving closer to say it directly into his ear. She let her tongue drift out to flick at his sensitive earlobe. Then the flesh of his neck. She nipped, then bit, as her hand between his legs squeezed gently. Then a little harder. At his noise of protest, she eased off but kept her mouth close to his ear. “Kiss me. I want you.”

  With that, Heath groaned and pulled her close. His lips found hers. Then his tongue. His hands slid from her hips to cup her ass and grind her against him.

  Oh, it was always a mistake to think she was in control when she was with him. He pushed her back toward the bed, and they fell onto it together in a protest of creaking headboard and mattress springs. They rolled until Effie was on top, her knees pressing his sides in the sweet, hot places where his shirt had ridden up, and she loved that, fucking loved it, skin on skin. She needed more. Her hands slid up his arms to pin his wrists at the sides of his head, and she bent to let her breasts tease his mouth. At the touch of his lips on her nipple, she ground against him harder, harder, not caring if she hurt him. Trying, in fact, to make it hurt.

  Heath groaned and muttered her name.

  “Yes,” Effie said. “It’s me. It’s always me, always, always and forever.”

  She wanted to move up and ov
er his face, to press her cunt over his mouth and nose until he couldn’t breathe. She wanted him to drown in her. She took his mouth again instead, kissing cruelly until he growled and rolled them both again so she was beneath him and her wrists were pinned as his had been.

  She could’ve gone soft, compliant, submissive, but that wasn’t what Heath wanted from her. She fought him, bucking her hips. Her naked flesh scraped against denim. She snapped her teeth at him, scant inches from his skin, and he pulled away only far enough to keep her from biting him. His fingers bit into her wrists harder, harder until she cried out.

  Then he let go of one of her hands to cover her mouth with the other.

  Ah, fuck, yes, it was wrong to love this, but she did, she did, she could not stop herself from loving it. Or him. Effie bit at Heath’s palm but couldn’t get more than a taste of him. Her bite became a kiss, helpless and longing, and he pressed his fingers tight into her cheek as he let go of her other hand so he could unzip and unbutton.

  With her hands free, she could fight him, and she did, but he was bigger and stronger, and did she really want to get away from him? Of course not. When she slapped at his chest and dug into him with her nails, it only urged him on. Later, she could feel guilty for this love that was nothing like the books and movies told her how it should be, but not now. Never in the moment, when his body on hers became her everything.

  Effie cried out against his hand when Heath fucked into her—she was turned on but still a little dry, and he scraped. As he pulled out, Heath nudged her knees apart, sliding a hand beneath one to lift her hips. Opening her. His mouth crushed onto hers, taking the place of his hand. His next thrust took him even deeper, and it was easier this time because now she was getting slick, wet and hot and slippery for him. This time when she made a noise, he sank his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull and yanked her head back.

  Fuck, that hurt. Pulling her hair, the awkward arch of her back, the way his cock rubbed her inside. It hurt and made her crazy at the same time. When Heath pressed his face to the side of hers and took her earlobe in his teeth, Effie shuddered.

  “Quiet,” Heath said in a low rasp. “You don’t want anyone to hear.”

  Oh, quiet, oh yes, there it was, they had to be quiet and not let anyone know. This had to be done in secret, in the dark, in furtive, guilty moments they were supposed to regret but never, ever did.

  She never did.

  He fucked her steadily. He knew her rhythm. How to press his pelvis to her clit the right way, over and over, until her hips lifted and she arched, raking his back with her nails and hooking her heels over his ass to shove him deeper. Harder. That’s when he eased, slowing, teasing, pulling almost all the way out and using the tip of his cock to barely dip inside her while he put a hand between them to tweak her clit.

  With other men Effie could control herself, but not with Heath. Never with him. She did not give up to her orgasm so much as she was swept away by it. Rushing waves of pleasure shook her, and she cried out into his mouth over and over as his thrusts got deeper again.

  When he bit down on the curve of her shoulder, another wave of ecstasy ripped through her. Heath caught her flesh in his teeth, sucking hard. He would leave a mark, oh, fuck yes, she thought, she would see it in the morning, that bruise, that place where he had left the proof of this.

  Effie came again.

  Heath soothed the pain in her neck with his tongue and captured her mouth once more, this time teasing her with his lips the way he’d been doing with his cock. She couldn’t manage another orgasm. She was broken from the pleasure, wrung out, but when he rolled his hips and groaned into her mouth, Effie put her fingers in his hair and pulled him tight against her.

  Heath finished with a low, soft cry against her. He buried his face against the side of her neck, lips pressed to the spot he’d bitten. He pressed deep and went still. It took him a few minutes to soften inside her, but then he pulled out and moved to lie on his side, turning her to spoon against her ass. It was wet. Effie thought distractedly of her clean sheets, of at least pulling up a blanket to cover them, but in the end all she did was wake to the morning light streaming through her windows and a dozen aching sorenesses all over her and an empty bed beside her.

  chapter nineteen

  Shit. It was late. Effie had stretched, cataloging the places she ached, but now shot up and tossed off the covers. Polly would miss the bus and be late for school, Effie would have to drive her, she stank of sex and needed a shower, there was no time. With a frustrated groan, Effie slung on her robe and went out into the hallway.

  Heath was in the kitchen. “Hey.”

  “Hey, I need to get...” Effie paused. “What time is it?”

  “Almost nine. I got Polly up and on the bus, don’t worry.” Heath held up two mugs of steaming coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

  Effie clutched the robe tighter around her throat. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “I always wake up early. It’s okay. And I like getting my girl off to school.” Heath shrugged. “I miss her, Effie.”

  Effie took the mug of coffee and sipped carefully. He’d put too much sweetener in, forgetting or maybe not knowing that she’d gone off it several months ago when she’d read on the internet that artificial sweeteners could cause skin irritations and she’d been plagued by a round of distracting itches. Still, the coffee was hot and welcome.

  She sighed, though. “It’s confusing to her, that’s all.”

  “You both lived with me for the first four years of her life,” Heath said flatly. “The only person who’s confused about that is you.”

  “I’m not going to fight with you about this.” Her stomach rumbled.

  Heath put his mug on the table, plucked a couple pieces of toast from the toaster and set them on the table, along with the butter and jelly and a knife. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her while she made herself a fresh mug of coffee.

  “The sweetener,” Effie said without looking at him. “I take it with real sugar now, or black.”

  “I let her think I slept in the guest room, you know,” Heath said. “I’m not a total fucking moron. I do get it, Effie. But I love Polly, and you can’t tell me that it wouldn’t be helpful to have someone here with you to help out.”

  Effie, mug cradled in her hands, turned. “Are you behind on your rent again?”

  “No, and fuck you,” Heath said evenly. “Don’t be a bitch. You know I’ve been working. I have a decent job. They like me there. I don’t need your fucking charity. I’m probably doing better than you are.”

  Effie sipped carefully to keep the hot coffee from burning her tongue. “There are other reasons why living together does not work out for us, Heath.”

  “Right. Because your mother hates me. Because you want to be free to fuck other men.”

  “Because we don’t work as a couple,” Effie reminded him without letting him push her into anger. They would fight. Then they’d fuck. In the light of day she had no more regrets than she had in the dark, but she did have some small measure of sense.

  Heath took a seat and started spreading butter on the toast. Then jelly, strawberry, always jelly and never jam because jam had chunks in it. Watching him, Effie failed to push away the immeasurable sadness that crept inside of her. She sipped her coffee and looked out the kitchen window, giving him her back. She was hungry but now couldn’t eat.

  “Why won’t you just let me help you?” Heath asked. “When you know it would make me happy?”

  Effie put her cup on the counter and faced him. “Because it comes with a price, doesn’t it? Making you happy.”

  “Everything comes with a price, Effie.” Heath pushed the plate away and stood. He gave her an open, yearning look that she could not bear to see. When he came up behind her, she closed her eyes and let him pull her back
against him. “Don’t you get tired doing it all yourself?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m using a dating service,” she said.

  Heath breathed against the side of her face. “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Good,” she said without missing a beat. “I’ve met someone nice. We’ve gone out a few times.”

  “Same guy more than once?” Heath pulled away to look at her face.

  Effie nodded. “Yes. Same guy. More than once.”

  “But you never—” he began and stopped himself. “You’re not going to find what you’re looking for. You know that, don’t you?”

  She didn’t want that to be true. Effie put her hands on the counter, bending away from him but unable to move because of the cabinets in front of her. She closed her eyes. She breathed in, then let out a hiss of air.

  “Do you think anyone else will make you happy, Effie? Really?”

  She shook her head. “If you rely on another person to make you happy, you’re always going to be disappointed.”

  “When you love someone,” Heath said, “you want them to be happy more than you want it for yourself. You don’t care about the price.”

  Effie breathed.

  Heath backed up a few steps. “Fine. You want me out of your life?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Being with you only halfway, it kills me,” Heath muttered. “You know that.”

  She did, but she said nothing. Did not turn. Effie kept her eyes closed. Her fingers curled on the countertop, finding no purchase. A fingernail bent, bringing pain that she refused to acknowledge with so much as a sigh.

  “And every time we’re together, I tell myself not to hope that this time you’ll just fucking see that there is nobody else for you. That you’ll give me a chance to prove we’re good together, really good, no matter what your mother says. Or anyone else. And every time that hope, it fucking slaughters me, Effie, because in the end it’s so obvious that you could not possibly love me,” Heath said. “If you did, you wouldn’t keep pushing me away.”