Hold Me Close Page 17

  “Yeah. It happens. Work. Kid. They take up a lot of time.”

  “My kid’s amazing,” Effie said. “It’s not like I mind.”

  “I didn’t mean... Yeah, of course. I just meant... Hmm. Sorry?”

  Effie relaxed a little at the same sound of uncertain apology in his voice she’d just had in hers. God. Relationships. Even when they weren’t complicated, they were a pain in the ass to navigate.

  The conversation continued. They talked about television—he’d never seen Runner. Effie had never heard of his favorite show. They talked about books. Mitchell devoured at least one or two a week. Effie barely one a year. They didn’t have much in common, but it didn’t seem to matter very much, because Mitchell made her laugh.

  “It’s been two hours,” Effie said finally with a yawn and a glance at the clock. “I have to get up early to get Polly ready for school.”

  “Do you ever think about having any more?”

  This surprised her. “Sure. I mean, in a vague sort of way, in that I’d want her to have a sibling. I never had a sister. I sort of want Polly to have one.”

  “Do you have a brother?”

  Brother.

  “No,” Effie said with a small shudder. “How about you? Kids. Want them?”

  “I’ve thought about it. They’re a lot of work. I see my sister with hers and wonder how anyone survives the toddler years. But...yeah. I think I’d like to have some of my own. Five, maybe.” Mitchell laughed.

  “Umm...”

  “Joking,” he put in. “I’m joking. One or two would be fine.”

  Another baby. Effie put a hand on her belly. Polly’s birth had been difficult and complicated. The doctors had told her there was little chance she’d conceive again. Not impossible, but not likely. At what point, exactly, was it appropriate to tell a potential long-term mate who was asking about having children that she might not be able to give him any?

  Not at this point, she decided. Too soon. Too intimate.

  “Well, good night,” Mitchell said when the silence had stretched on. “Did you fall asleep on me?”

  “No. Sorry. But, yes, it’s late. Good night,” Effie said.

  “When will I see you again?” He snuck in the question before she disconnected.

  “When do you want to see me again?”

  “Right now,” Mitchell said.

  Oh.

  “How about tomorrow? Lunch?”

  “Lunch it is. Meet at the Blue Moon Café? Noon?”

  They agreed. He disconnected. There it was. Dating, she could do this. Effie put her phone on the charger and tucked herself tight into her blankets, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

  Sex would help, and not the sort she’d had with Mitchell, but Polly was home and that meant Effie couldn’t sneak out to knock on Bill’s door. And Heath...she couldn’t call him. He might refuse to show up, even if she did. That left her bedside drawer and her small collection of sex toys.

  She got up to make sure her door was locked, then slipped off her clothes and stretched out, naked, in the cold air. Her nipples peaked. She pinched them. Hard. It wasn’t the same as someone else’s touch.

  She slid a hand between her legs, stroking the soft hair. Then her clit. Lower, she dipped two fingers inside herself, but she wasn’t wet. Well, she had lube for that.

  Rolling onto her side, Effie pulled out the smooth metal dildo she’d bought online. One end was bluntly curved. The other had nodules. Coating it in lube made it slippery and she had to be careful—once, she’d dropped it on her foot and nearly broken a toe. It was cold when she pushed it inside her, but the sting was good and she bit her lip to hold back a moan. Slowly, slowly, she fucked it in and out, deeper each time until the blunt end nudged her cervix.

  It wasn’t going to be enough.

  One of the reasons why masturbation was never as satisfying for her was because...well, she could slap her own face, pull her own hair, but like pinching her nipples, it was never the same. Effie knew about pain play, BDSM, all that sort of thing. She didn’t get off on being handcuffed or anything like that.

  She liked to feel dirty when she fucked.

  She didn’t need a shrink to tell her why. She knew it was because of what had happened to them in that basement, of how they’d turned to each other without anyone else to turn to. She knew it was because pain and struggle were the first things that had ever accompanied sex for her, and she’d imprinted on them like a baby duck.

  Effie knew everything about herself she wished she did not.

  For a moment, she almost gave up and put away the toy. This was going to take more of an effort than she wanted to make. Again, she thought of calling Heath. He was angry at her. If she could convince him to come over, he would still be angry. He would bruise her. He’d fuck her. He would grab her tight and oh...oh, yes. There it was.

  Effie arched, fucking the toy deeper inside her as she imagined Heath fisting his fingers into her hair and pulling tight. She thought of how it felt to hit him, the sound of his groans. She rolled her hips. The cold metal had warmed. The blunt end rubbed her G-spot with every thrust.

  More lube. Slick fingers. She needed more. Rolling again, Effie pulled out the small glass plug and eased it into her ass. It stretched, hurting, but oh, fuck, yes, like that, so full, it felt good. She clenched on it, rocking as she fucked herself faster. Harder. Pinching her clit between her thumb and forefinger, she jerked it like a tiny cock.

  Heath was the only man who’d ever fucked her in the ass. She thought of that now, being stretched and filled, his cock moving inside her while he fucked her cunt with his fingers. She thought of how once he’d spanked her clit at the moment of climax, how it had hurt but made her come so hard she saw stars.

  She thought of biting him.

  More than once, how she’d drawn blood.

  How he begged her to hurt him, and she did, and he hurt her. Over and over. Desire and suffering, all wrapped up together in a way only the two of them could understand.

  Carried by these memories, her ecstasy overtook her and left her shaking. Effie sobbed out a low cry, limp in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her body felt pounded, sore, aching.

  So did her heart.

  chapter twenty-five

  “Mom...” Polly tapped her pencil on the table, then put it down. Her brow furrowed. “I have to talk to you.”

  Effie looked up from the sketch pad she’d been balancing on her knees. She’d been drawing Polly, smooth lines for her blond hair, rounded curves for the slope of her shoulders. Black and white, smudgy lines. She was no portraitist, but it was turning out better than she expected.

  “Sure.” Effie let her pencil shade another line and gave Polly a sideways glance. “What’s up?”

  “I did something bad.”

  At this, Effie set the sketch pad aside. “Uh-oh.”

  Polly’s lower lip quivered. “I went on the internet.”

  Oh, shit. What had she seen? Effie flashed to some of the worst stuff she’d had the misfortune to stumble across, and she was an adult who could presumably filter out that kind of horror.

  “What was it, Pollywog?” Effie leaned forward, bracing herself.

  “It was about you.”

  That was shit of a different color. Effie sat back. “Ah.”

  Polly frowned and picked up her pencil again to tap it rapidly on her math homework, a habit that usually drove Effie nuts but which she ignored at the moment. Polly looked at her mother, mouth working. Finally, she put the pencil down again and shook her head.

  “I found this website that talks about you.”

  “Oh. That.” Effie bit the inside of her cheek for a second. She should’ve known this discussion wasn’t over with gossip from bitchy tween girls and their mothers. “Honey, those pe
ople...”

  “There was a lot of stuff on it. They talked all about you and Heath and how that guy kept you in the basement and stuff.”

  The conversation between them was still fresh in Effie’s brain, the details she’d given and the ones she’d kept still secret. Polly had listened and taken the story well, better than Effie had expected. Clearly, Effie had been wrong.

  “Yes,” Effie said. “I’ve seen that website.”

  Polly let one small fist pound the table. “They talk about you like they know you. But they don’t!”

  “No. They don’t. They like to think they do.”

  “But...why?” Polly gave Effie a confused, agonized look.

  Effie went around the table to sit next to her kid, putting an arm around Polly’s shoulders and squeezing her. “Because people like to think they know stuff. I don’t know why, honey.”

  “They’re stupid.”

  “Yeah.” Effie laughed. “But, Polly, sometimes stupid pays the bills.”

  Polly looked confused again. Effie chucked her under the chin and got up to get some milk from the fridge. From the cupboard she took the cocoa powder and sugar. A saucepan. Polly loved hot cocoa, and if there was ever a time to drink some, it was now.

  “A lot of those people buy my paintings.” Effie looked over her shoulder for a second before pouring the milk. “They like thinking that they know me somehow, which makes them like the art better. I don’t know, kid, it’s messed up. But you have to realize, they don’t know me. They don’t know you. Or Heath.”

  “Isn’t some of what they say true?”

  With the milk heating on low, Effie turned. “Some of it is. Yes. But there’s a lot of what they call speculation. Which means they don’t know, so they make it up based on what they do know. It’s stupid.”

  “Yeah.” Polly frowned. “Mom...”

  Effie smiled. “Yeah?”

  “It was bad. Wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, honey. It was bad. But it happened.” Effie paused. “And my father told me that even the bad things make you into the person you are. So I try really hard not to let that bad thing that happened keep hurting me.”

  Polly got up from the table to tackle hug her mother. Effie hugged back, hard. She stroked Polly’s corn-silk hair. Love washed over her, fierce as fire.

  “How do you stop it from hurting, Mom?” Polly’s voice was muffled against Effie’s stomach. Her arms tightened.

  Effie had only one honest answer for that. “I don’t know, Polly. I just try hard, every day.”

  “I love you.” Polly tipped her face up, her eyes bright with tears.

  Effie kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, too, Pollywog. Don’t go on the internet again without my permission, okay? Or I’ll have to take away privileges.”

  Polly sighed and moved away. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “If you have questions, you ask me.” Effie stirred the steaming milk and added some cocoa powder and sugar.

  “Are you and Heath fighting?”

  Effie looked over her shoulder again. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Polly went back to the table to push her homework aside so she had room for the mug of cocoa Effie poured.

  “It’s really not your business.” Effie put the mug in front of Polly and leaned against the counter to drink her own.

  Polly looked chastened. “I don’t like it when you guys fight.”

  “I don’t like it, either, kid, believe me.”

  “Is Heath your best friend?” Polly blew on the cocoa to cool it while casting a side eye at her mother.

  “Yes,” Effie said. “He is.”

  “Can’t you make up?” Polly frowned. “You tell me when I fight with my friends that we should make up.”

  Effie laughed ruefully. It was good advice, and she ought to take it. “I’m sure we will soon.”

  “Mom,” Polly said again and, typically, stopped.

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember when I was a baby and we all lived together?”

  “Yeah, of course I do,” Effie said. “But I don’t think you do. Do you?”

  Polly looked serious. “Yes. I had flowers painted on the bedroom wall. And the same rocker I still have.”

  Effie was the artist, yet Heath had been the one to paint the flowers. Heath had bought the rocking chair from a used furniture store, cleaned it, refinished it. He’d put together the crib and, later, the toddler bed Effie had taken with her when she and Polly moved into their own place.

  “It would be okay with me, you know. If you wanted to live together again.” Polly shrugged.

  Effie wasn’t fooled by Polly’s too-casual tone. “That’s not going to happen, Wog.”

  Polly sighed. “But...”

  “Did Heath tell you to ask me that?” Effie dumped her cocoa into the sink and put the mug in the dishwasher. When Polly didn’t answer, she turned. “Did he?”

  “No.” Polly shook her head. “I asked him. He said to talk to you about it.”

  That wasn’t much better than if he’d actively put the idea in Polly’s head. Effie felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. She dumped the dregs of the cocoa and began to scrub the saucepan, her back to Polly.

  “Finish your homework,” she said.

  A text came through from Mitchell, but she chose not to answer it. Instead, Effie went to the porch to contemplate her half-finished canvas. Mitchell had seen her naked, but he still didn’t know the most important parts of her. The longer it took her to tell him the truth about her work, her past, the harder it would get. The stupider she would look for keeping it a secret.

  Heath knew everything about her, and always would. Together or apart, he was inside her. She could hate it, but it was the truth.

  chapter twenty-six

  Effie had sent Polly to her mother’s house. Armed with a box of powdered doughnuts and a bag of Heath’s favorite gourmet coffee beans, she drove to his apartment. She hadn’t called first. She wasn’t going to give him the chance to tell her not to come over.

  She could’ve walked in without knocking, as she’d done so often in the past. She had lived in this same apartment for four years, after all. Still, she knocked and waited like a stranger on the doorstep, because that’s how it felt to be there after all this time.

  “Hey.” Heath looked surprised and, before he could stop himself, so happy to see her that Effie’s heart hurt when he quickly shuttered his expression. He didn’t step aside to let her in. “What’s up? Is Polly okay?”

  “She’s fine.” Effie held up the paper grocery bag. “Are you going to let me in?”

  Heath looked past her, into the dirty hallway. “What do you want?”

  “To see you. Isn’t that all right?”

  He shrugged and opened the door. He followed her into the small galley kitchen and watched her set the doughnuts on the table. Effie put the bag of beans on the counter.

  “Let’s grind.” Her joke fell flat. He didn’t even crack a smile. With a sigh, she stepped away with a flourish, leaving him to make the coffee.

  While it brewed, she opened the box of doughnuts and ate one. Heath put two mugs on the table, along with sugar and cream. He took the seat across from her but left the doughnuts alone.

  “They’re your favorite,” Effie said quietly.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Effie licked sugar from her thumb. “Heath...”

  He sat back, arms crossed over his chest. He had that stubborn look on his face, the one any smart woman would’ve taken as a warning. Effie had always prided herself on being smart. Mostly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He looked away from her, his jaw set. A muscle ticked in his temple. For the first time, Effie noticed a glint of silver in the
dark hair there. It made her feel suddenly small. All this time had passed, so much between them, and here they sat at his kitchen table and he wouldn’t even look at her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again and got up from her chair to go around the table so she could slide onto his lap. Straddling him, Effie cupped Heath’s face and turned him toward her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  He allowed her to tip his face to hers, and his hands went to her hips to steady them both, but his expression remained shuttered and tight. He’d closed himself away from her, and she couldn’t blame him, could she? Even if it broke her to see it.

  She kissed him. He did not kiss her in return. Effie pressed her forehead to his, then her cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” Heath said.

  They sat in silence for a moment or so before she nuzzled his neck. When he didn’t resist, she pressed her teeth there and then, helpless against the taste of him, her tongue. She sucked his flesh into her mouth. He tasted better than sugar to her. Better than anything.

  When he groaned, Effie grinned. Triumphant. She rocked against his crotch, feeling his cock harden between them. She cupped his face again. Brought his mouth to hers. The long, slow slip of her tongue between his lips. The soft intake of his breath, stealing hers.

  “I miss you, Heath.”

  He’d closed his eyes to her kiss but opened them at her words. “Good. I hope it fucking kills you. Every day.”

  “Hush.” Effie sat up, her hands on his shoulders so her thumbs could toy with the sides of his neck. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

  “You make me so goddamned crazy. You know that?” His hands moved above the waistband of her skirt, fingertips questing beneath the hem of her shirt. “You make me hate you.”

  Effie shivered. Her nipples tightened. She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, opening his mouth at first gently and then hooking her finger inside to tug harder. Her breath caught when he moaned.

  “I love it when you hate me,” Effie said into his ear before she took the soft lobe between her teeth and bit.