Closer Page 13

  “Because that makes a difference with you?” I scoff.

  Nicolette doesn’t bother to act offended by our argument. She grabs the broom and sweeps up the broken pieces of our only remote control. “You’re both lucky I recorded Real Housewives in my room.”

  My brother drops the plate of food onto the kitchen counter, along with the gifts, and steps behind the only person who doesn’t live or belong here.

  “Teller, let’s go, man.” Emerson keeps his tone low, but he’s had to physically remove this boy from the apartment on more than one occasion, and we’re not fooled by the passivity of his voice. “Can we not do this on Christmas? Sleep on the couch, but let her close the door.”

  A mischievous smile spreads across Teller’s mouth, and he turns to face Em. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t left your sister alone, dick. It’s cool that you want to do shit with Nic’s family, but your only family was drowning her fucking sorrow in popcorn and shit movies. By herself. On motherfucking Christmas Eve.”

  Emerson’s eyes narrow, but Nicolette couldn’t care less. She goes into her bedroom and shuts the door.

  “I asked you to come. We all wanted you there.” His self-control snaps and he yells, holding his hand out to me. “You said no.”

  “And that’s when you should have stayed home,” Teller replies sharply.

  Em scrubs his hands down his face and exhales loudly, losing his patience. “I’m not doing this, Gabriella. I can’t come home to a warzone every time you’re together. Get it figured out—now.”

  I throw a shoe at his back.

  Now

  “Do it again.” Teller buries his face between my neck and shoulder, kissing the sensitive skin right below my pulse. “Your landing will be softer this time, and I won’t laugh when you fall.”

  With a towel in my wet hair and my skin just-washed soft, I’m wrapped in the silkiest robe ever made, licking my wounds and my pride. I drank too much yesterday, and my knee hurts from the dance-gone-wrong, so I took a shower and climbed back into bed with my favorite troublemaker, because I’m not getting up until he does.

  “Come on, baby,” Teller whispers with an undertone of laughter. He slips his hand under my robe and sweeps it across my bare stomach. “It’ll be so much sexier in here.”

  I unsuccessfully push his arm away, wondering what it would be like if he went a little lower, a little slower. “Not a chance, Reddy.”

  Cradled in the softest bedspread money can buy, on a mattress big enough to fit ten people, Teller smells like yesterday’s vodka, and I don’t remember much after I fell off the table. The pounding in my head and the knot in my stomach guarantee it was a good time.

  “I had to carry you back to the room over my shoulder,” Teller replies when I ask him to fill in the hazy spots. He’s shirtless, covered from the waist down with blankets. Ab muscles contract with every word he utters, and the artwork across his chest and stomach glows, backdropped by white sheets. “Our cocktail waitress came to take away the empty bottles and you threw a tray of limes at her. And missed, which is why we didn’t get kicked out.”

  “My mom was a thrower,” I say matter-of-factly, unsurprised by my choice of violence. “There are worse qualities I could have inherited from her.”

  “Amanda,” Teller emphasizes her name. His smirk is easy, and his eyelids are swollen from sleep and bottle green brilliant. “Wasn’t mad. She said it happens all the time.”

  The memories I do have of her scoping out my man resurrect an irritation I can only imagine was ten times worse after a day of drinking. We had more than enough limes, but that didn’t stop her from moseying in every thirty minutes to cut more. She smelled like coconuts and chewed pink gum with her mouth open, smiling with it jammed between her back teeth.

  “She was doing her job, babe.” Teller laughs, tucking his hands under his head.

  “I don’t think her job description includes hitting on customers,” I answer, wishing I had thrown a fist instead of citrus.

  “I guarantee it does.” He turns his head, hitting me with the full force of his crooked grin. “Those girls get paid to flirt. They survive off their tips.”

  “Whatever,” I say, sitting up. The towel falls from my head, and locks of wet hair tumble down my back. Lavender and mint-scented drops of water soak through my robe. “We had enough limes.”

  Teller towers behind me, pushing the silk from my shoulder and pressing his lips to my sun-kissed skin. I tilt my neck, opening the space for his mouth, melting under his persistent caress. We haven’t had a conversation about what this is, but admitting we’re going down this road again might ruin how amazing it feels to have him against me, and I’m okay with negligence. We can’t label our relationship without acknowledging why it never worked in the first place.

  Confessions come with consequences. As wrong as it may be, it takes no effort to start right where we ended things.

  Our affection never lacked passion. We’re deficient in self-control.

  “What do you want to do today?” He lowers the robe until it falls free from my right arm and pools around my waist, revealing my naked chest. Cool air puckers my nipples, and my lips part as he cups my breast in his large hand. “We can stay here. In bed.”

  My chest rises and falls with every slow inhale and exhale passing through my lungs. Teller’s breath is warm against the back of my neck, the bend of my ear, across my cheek, and I sink into his body, gasping when our skin touches, closing my eyes when his thumb brushes across my nipple.

  “Keep your eyes open, baby,” he whispers, lowering his hand from my chest to my stomach.

  I follow blueish veins from his elbow to his wrist, not at all upset that some of the scars on his knuckles were put there fighting for me, and watch his fingertips sink lower and lower, past my belly button, past the waistband of my white panties, and down more … and more … and more.

  “We have to stop,” I gasp, reaching back and grabbing onto his hair.

  “We don’t have to do anything.” Teller circles my clit, biting my earlobe between his front teeth. “We can stay in this room for the next three days and fuck the entire time.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, opening my legs for him.

  “Do you have any idea how long I’ve thought about being inside of you?” His fingers slide between my folds, and a jolt of electricity shoots through my body. “I lost you once, baby. I won’t let it happen again.”

  When the phone rings, we break apart like we’re caught kissing behind the bleachers in gym class. Teller falls back against the mattress with a hand to his forehead, and I jump off the bed, correcting and retying my robe.

  “If that’s one of those motherfuckers—” Teller warns, covering his face with a pillow.

  I run to the telephone on unsteady feet, brushing damp hair away from my overheated face and answer breathlessly, praying it’s not Emerson. “Hello?”

  “Hey,” Husher replies in a low, even tone. He’s not a man of many words, but when he does speak, I listen closely. His voice eases my anxiety, and the one small word calms my erratic heart. “I know we had plans to meet up for lunch, but Maby’s not up for it today.”

  “Is everything okay? Is she hungover?” I ask, looking out the window toward the strip. Making plans with them must be in the forgotten file with Liming Amanda.

  “No, just the normal stuff,” he answers. “You know how it goes.”

  “Let us know if you need anything,” I answer, keeping my voice low as if it might disturb Maby from here. “Does she have her medication?”

  “She has it. I think everything that’s happened finally hit her, and her mind’s dealing with it like it does whenever she’s overwhelmed. We’ll let her sleep it off today and see what happens tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” I look toward the bedroom. Teller’s resurfaced from under the pillow, catching bits and pieces of my conversation. “Is my brother with you?”

  “They took off this morning. Said something abo
ut traveling down to Fremont.”

  “Okay, Husher. I’ll check in later.”

  Teller watches me walk past the bed toward the bathroom, where I grab my brush and battle tangles in my hair from letting it air-dry. Clear bulbs above the mirror expose every sunspot and freckle on my face and reflect light off my dark irises. My complexion holds a pinkish tint, lasting excitement from having my best friend’s hand between my thighs.

  “What’s going on with Maby?” disorder asks. He turns on the shower, and the small space fills with steam.

  “Bed bound,” I say, plugging in the blow dryer, spying on him through the mirror.

  “Do we need to go over there?” He turns away from me, showcasing a piece of art that marks the entirety of his back. From shoulder to shoulder, to the base of his neck to his waist, bold color and elaborate design transform typical to extraordinary, and I’m spellbound.

  He drops his boxers and steps into the shower.

  “Husher said he’ll give us a call tomorrow, but I don’t think we should worry about her too much right now. It’s only been a day. She took her meds.”

  His sister’s mental state of mind seems like the wrong topic of conversation to have when I can’t take my eyes away from his naked form. Clouded glass keeps it PG, but I can distinguish the shape of his body and what parts are where.

  He’s still hard.

  We need to leave this hotel before I take him up on his offer.

  “I’m not sure why we’re here. My idea sounded a lot better.” Teller smiles, kissing the top of my head while we wait for the hostess to escort us to our table.

  I lean against his arm, lacing my fingers with his, and blush at the thought of what we’d be doing if we’d stayed at the loft like he suggested. Now that we’re amongst other people, head heavy from a hangover that won’t be ignored, I’m second-guessing my decision to leave. The smell of tobacco is only appeasing when it comes from Teller, not the hundreds of people at blackjack tables, flicking ash into gold-plated ashtrays.

  And why isn’t there a mute button on slot machines?

  “Can we have a table somewhere quiet?” Teller slips our escort a twenty-dollar bill, and she gladly accepts it, leading us to a corner booth furthest away from the casino.

  Teller thanks the woman, sending her away with a smile that reddens her cheeks and lightens her steps. Not noticing the effect he has on the girl, he steps aside for me to slide into the booth, and instead of sitting across from me, he slips in at my side.

  He’s brushing my hair away from my shoulder and kissing the spot below my ear when our waiter arrives to take our drink order. Teller doesn’t bother to look up, so I order a couple of beers and thank the man.

  “No limes.” Possessiveness smirks with eyes for no one but me.

  “Afraid you’re going to throw them at him?” I look through the menu, trying my hardest to pretend the way he kisses me doesn’t weaken my bones.

  “I’ll shove them down his fucking throat if he so much as looks at you for too long. You look gorgeous in this dress, baby.”

  “Don’t be embarrassing,” I whisper, swallowing a gasp when his teeth pinch the soft place where my neck and shoulder meet. “People can see us.”

  “No one can see us, Ella.” He fingers the thins straps crossing my upper back, tickling my exposed skin, touching every part of me he can get his hands on. “Are you wearing a bra?”

  I drop the menu, deciding on enchiladas, and shake my head. “No, I don’t need one with this dress.”

  Lie.

  It’s a typical linen summer dress, suitable for any strapless bra. Despite having three in my bag, I didn’t wear one on purpose, because I wanted him to notice.

  I want to be the only one he ever notices.

  “Why the fuck are we here?” he groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Please, let me take you back to the room. Aren’t we past this shit, Gabriella? It’s you and me, right? You can’t tell me you don’t feel this. You can’t do this back and forth shit with me again, not after Joe. I won’t live through that again.”

  Leo, our server, places two frosted glasses and our beers in front of us, drops off a basket of chips and salsa, and walks away to grab napkins before he takes our order.

  “Can we save this topic for later, Tell?” I drink my brew straight from the bottle. “Until we’re alone.”

  The scent of his cologne and the natural trace of ginger and vanilla on his skin make it hard to form a coherent thought. My brain’s a jumbled mess of chaos and avoidance, and it would be easier to go back, not speak a single word to each other, and have sex for the next three days like we are the only two people in the universe. I have no doubt we could easily lock ourselves in that thousand dollar a night loft and consume ourselves with a very real need we’ve been consumed with since the very first day we met.

  But I’m scared.

  Joe and Kristi haven’t been gone a month, and we’re already falling into each other’s arms. What does that say about our character? What does that say about the two years I spent with Joe? What does it say about Teller for letting it happen and choosing to be with Kristi instead?

  “We’re alone, Ella,” Teller replies, waving his hand at the empty section of the restaurant.

  Sometime later, our food arrives and we dine with tension, emphasizing every scratch our forks and knives make across our plates, every move one of us makes, and every word that’s not being said. I swallow my sorrows with ice-cold beer, ordering a third before my second is gone.

  “Food’s good,” I say, moving around red sauce and cheese.

  “Yeah,” he answers nonchalantly, having only eaten half of his burrito.

  “Don’t be mad at me, Tell.”

  Green eyes that see me like no other fall upon my face, and my pulse rises with the temperature. Heat flashes through my palms, and my stomach tightens like I did a hundred somersaults. Joe never made me feel this way, and it’s something I ignored the entire time, because Joe never made me feel a lot of ways.

  Like blind rage.

  “I’m not mad at you, baby.” Teller rubs his hand up and down the inside of my thigh, sweeping the hem of my yellow dress with his pinkie finger.

  Sipping from the glass of water Leo brought with my third beer, I play it cool, scoping out the restaurant to see where the other customers and servers are.

  Then I part my knees.

  Teller doesn’t skip a beat, pressing his finger to his lips, asking me to be quiet and winking as his hand goes higher, and higher, and higher.

  “Is this okay?” he asks quietly, casually like we’re a normal twosome on a normal lunch date.

  “Yes,” I hum, gripping the edge of the table. The knot in my stomach comes undone, releasing butterflies in dozens.

  Gripping the thickness in my thighs, he pulls them apart. The back of my legs sticks to the leather seats, and I whimper at the force of his parting, the strength in his touch.

  “Quiet, girl,” bound and determined whispers through a smirk I’d love to smack from his face.

  With a trembling hand, I reach for my beer bottle and bring the cool glass to my warm lips. Teller teases the seams of my lace underwear, slipping his finger beneath the elastic, caressing my folds before sweeping his hand down to my knee and back up.

  “Stop messing with me,” I say, pressing his palm against my warmest spot with one hand and drinking my beer with the other.

  Before I can swallow, Teller moves my panties to the side and plunges two fingers inside of me so roughly, my bottom scoots to the back of the booth. I slam my glass bottle to the table before dropping it completely and slump my head back, biting my lip with a smile. As if nothing’s out of the ordinary, thrusting in and out of me at the slowest pace, he looks around the room and swigs his Corona with no lime.

  His movement’s gentle and exact, hitting my clit with the palm of his hand as he fucks me with his fingers, soaking his hand and my underwear in desire.

  A small moan escap
es my lips.

  He smiles at the mouth of his bottled beer.

  All of a sudden he stops, but doesn’t pull his fingers out.

  “Another round?” Leo asks, collecting our empties from the table.

  I close my thighs on Teller’s hand and pull my dress down to hide what’s going on under the table. My face warms, and my stomach drops, but nothing can stop the tingling between my legs.

  “What do you think, babe? Should we order another round, or are we ready to go?” Teller curves his fingers, brushing against the place inside of me that tosses caution to the wind and reduces me to nothing but sensation, utterly shameless.

  “Yeah, whatever,” I force out, trying to smile.

  “We’ll take two more, my man.”

  “No problem. I’ll be right back with those.”

  He walks away, and Teller waits until our waiter is around the corner before he thrusts his fingers fully into me, unapologetic and rough, over and over and over. Tingles explode to full-on inferno, and I catch on fire, rolling my hips as I become engulfed.

  “You have to be quiet, Ella,” Teller whispers against my ear, kissing the side of my hot face.

  I clasp onto his arm, gathering his T-shirt in my fisted hand, pulling as pressure between my legs becomes uncontainable. I feel myself tighten around his fingers, and he leans over, coaxing me, guiding me, urging me to come for him.

  “Just like that. You look so beautiful, baby. You’re so fucking sexy, Ella.” Beer-scented breath tickles my skin, and I pull him closer. “You have no fucking clue how stunning you are.”

  Coming apart, I bury my face in his shirt and bite my bottom lip until the taste of copper coats my tongue.

  “That’s it, babe. Open your eyes and look at me. Let me see all of you.”

  It takes every stitch of restraint I have not to jump his cock and scream his name loud enough for the entire hotel to hear as I ride out the last of this orgasm. It’s been years since it was this good, since this drunk pleasure was taken from me so unabashedly, since I was this brazen about never wanting it to end. Since the days he used to thrust and press and rub over my clothes until I was gripping the bedsheets and forgetting that anything existed outside of Teller and those moments.