Fake Empire(59)

The guest room next to the master is a foreign sight. I haven’t set foot in here for years. When my father sets up a “family” vacation, it’s always to the Alps for Christmas or on some tropical island. Whenever I’ve spent time here, I’ve stayed in the master. There’s no way I’m setting foot in there tonight.

I strip down to my boxers and face plant into bed.





I wake with a dry throat while it’s still dark out. I roll around in the sheets for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable spot that will lull me back to sleep. Eventually, I give up. I stand and leave the bedroom, heading for the dark, silent kitchen.

It takes me three tries to find the cabinet with the glasses in it. I fill one with cold water from the tap, drain most of it, refill it, and then turn to leave.

Scarlett is leaning against the doorway, staring at me. My heart rate accelerates, slows, and then picks up again.

“Do you want any water?”

She scoffs and turns away.

I cross the kitchen in a few strides and grab her arm. “Scarlett. Look, I—”

She whirls on me. “What? What do you want from me, Crew? Because I thought it was sex. But I offered that to you on a platinum fucking platter and you decided to sleep down the hall.”

“You weren’t thinking clearly.”

“No shit. I can’t think clearly around you.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, baby.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I’d like to.”

That seems to pierce whatever armor she’s wearing underneath her flimsy nightgown. These scraps of short fabric will be the death of me, I swear. “Will this end once we have sex?”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

“Just say what you mean, Red. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I want to sleep with you. I don’t want it to change things.”

“Change them from what? Not talking in New York?”

“From…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

I make the first move. I erase the space between us and press my palm against her waist, guiding her against me.

She makes the second. Her hands run up my arms and shoulders before sliding in my hair. “Just warn me, okay?” she whispers. “Warn me it’s going to end. I’ll be fine, as long as I have a warning.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Scarlett doesn’t answer. She kisses me. Heady and deep and arousing. The sort of kiss that can be the main event. I could kiss her for hours. Memorize exactly how it feels, how she tastes, the little sounds she makes, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

But I realize this won’t be the main event when her hand slides south. Before I can think, much less react, she’s fisting my cock. And I’m done. I won’t be the one stopping this. The brakes aren’t working. I want her. I’ve wanted her for so long it’s hard to remember a time when I didn’t.

She makes quick work of my boxers, and I tug off the silk that barely covers her. I’m not thinking clearly, but I’m aware enough to realize this doesn’t have to happen in the kitchen. I haul her up against my body, and her legs wrap around my waist. Maneuvering through the dark house while carrying her isn’t easy, but I manage.

I toss her down on the bed, in the midst of tangled sheets that suggest tossing and turning. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Stop talking.” Her hand grips my hair as she steers me back to her lips.

I want to savor this: her feel, her taste, the sight of her spread beneath me. But it’s dark in here, meaning I can’t see much more than her shape. I haven’t had sex in months, which isn’t helping matters.

Scarlett isn’t exactly slowing things down. She writhes beneath me until the tip of my cock slides through her wet heat. Her hips rise, teasing me. Pressing us closer together. Fingernails dig into my back. My name breaks the silence in a ragged moan.

I start to sink inside her and realize what feels different.

I pull away, trying to remember where I left my luggage.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice is unlike I’ve ever heard it. Desperate. The vocal equivalent of stepping in someone’s way.

“I need a condom.”

“No, you don’t.”

It’s not the response I’m expecting. We haven’t discussed birth control or kids—aside from her saying she isn’t ready to have them. Not to mention, there’s the surgeon she’s supposedly screwing. I’m clean, but she doesn’t know that. All things we’ll need to discuss eventually, but not right now.

Her answer is reckless and irresponsible, neither of which are adjectives I’d normally use to describe Scarlett.

My shock must show on my face. Abruptly, she drops her hands from my back, lying on the white sheet like she’s about to make a snow angel. Open, but not vulnerable. “Forget it. Get one.”

She’s silent as I stand and locate my suitcase. I can feel the annoyance radiating clear across the room. I feel like I missed something and I’m not sure what. There’s a good chance I won’t need the foil packet I return to the bed with.

“We don’t have to do this tonight.”