Page 34

34

Raya

Don’t push my luck?

Boy, fuck you.

I don’t need luck.

Clearly I don’t, because I’m living in your house right now.

After he leaves, I finish cleaning the kitchen and start the dishwasher before retreating back upstairs to his bedroom.

I dive in the bed and roll around in the sheets for a while before I calm down and get my head back in the game.

This is serious.

Despite his parting words to me, I’m even closer to the ring than I was before. And I know that because I finally figured out his hook.

Ace has a hero complex.

It wasn’t enough to tell him the truth. I had to tell him my ugliest truths, the ones I’d hidden away in my deepest, darkest recesses. The ones I thought would make him leave me for good. But who would have thought hearing about my shitty past would make him like me even more?

And he says I’m the crazy one.

I bury my face in his pillow, inhaling his scent like I’m doing a whippet.

He doesn’t even know everything, which means I have an arsenal now. I can deploy my fucked up shit any time I need to.

This is good.

We are so back.

“Hey.”

Ace nods upward, his greeting for me after a long day of work, I guess. Doesn’t look happy, but at least he’s home.

He drops his keys on the hall table, slamming his bag on the floor, kicking off his shoes and leaving them haphazardly where they land. As he makes his way over to the couch, he doesn’t even look at me.

He plops down on the other end and sighs loudly while I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

One of his moods.

He sits all spread out, limbs everywhere, taking up every inch of available space. His head falls back against the couch. His eyes drift to the ceiling.

“You okay?” I finally ask.

“Long day,” he mutters. “I’m frustrated.”

“Work stuff?”

He frowns. “Nah. You.”

“Me?”

He’s quiet for several moments before letting out a strange laugh. I fail to see what’s funny. I didn’t tell a joke in this bitch. His laugh sounds like delirium.

“Ohhhhh, man,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I swear.”

“What?” I demand, my irritation growing.

Finally, he turns his head, bringing his eyes to mine. In them, I see anger.

“Just…walked up in the crib, and there you are, sitting on the couch.”

I rear back. “Um, yeah. You invited me to stay over. If you don’t want me here—“

“It ain’t that.” His eyes roam my face, glassy and pink. “I still want you here. I just…hate that I do.”

I don’t react to that, even though I’m internally screaming. He can’t be having second thoughts now. We’re so close.

“Why do you hate it?”

He blinks slowly like he’s in a trance. “You’re not good for me, Raya.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, ain’t it?” he snaps. He doesn’t even look sorry after. “You’re not good for me.”

“Okay…” I shake my head, pretending to be confused. He’s well within his rights to feel the way he does. Obviously. But the conflict he’s feeling, the way he’s fighting himself…it’s making me uneasy. I like him off balance, but only when it’s in my favor.

“I can leave if that would make you feel better,” I say softly.

He sits up, angling his body to face me. “You know what’s funny? This is some funny shit.” He shakes his head and smiles, giving that same shade of crazy. “If I had come home and you weren’t here, I would have felt worse.”

I hide my smile.

“You see why I’m frustrated?” he says. “You got my head all fucked up.”

I nod, not sure what he wants me to say to that. Men are ridiculous; they can’t fall in love unless their head is all fucked up. When they’re in their right minds, they spend all their time fighting against it, somehow convinced that love and companionship are a pathway to misery. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with them, nor do I have sympathy, but I do love Ace, and I can see he’s struggling. I should do something.

“You want a drink?” I finally say.

He sighs again. “Yeah, a beer.”

I put my hand out when he goes to stand, beating him to it. “No, you stay there. You just got home from work. I’ll get it.”

I’m such a good little wife.

When I bring the bottle back and hand it to him, his eyes are full of gratitude. This is way deeper than the beer for him, I see it. My heart swells. I’m so close to the finish line.

He’s halfway to the bottom of his Budweiser when I speak again.

“I’ll be honest. I’m confused.”

He swallows a gulp. “Yeah, me too.”

“I don’t wanna wear out my welcome with you.”

He shrugs. “You’re not. Don’t worry about it.”

For some nonsensical reason, he slams his bottle on the table right next to the stack of coasters. “I’ma take a shower.”

I give him ten minutes before I make my way upstairs. I undress and enter his bathroom, fighting my way through the steam, ready to sacrifice my silk press if it means making some progress with this man.

Even his silhouette is fine, my God.

I open the door and step in, which he doesn’t react to. Seems like he was expecting me. I move to stand behind him, gingerly wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my face against his back.

He tenses at first, then his body relaxes. When his hands come to rest on top of mine, I close my eyes. I don’t even care that the water is cascading down his back and running across my scalp. This feels nice.

Steam rises around us as I determine that I’m willing to suck his dick in here if I have to. But before I can move around to face him, he pats my hands.

“Pass me the soap from back there.”

I turn around, grabbing the bar off the ledge when I feel his presence behind me. I stop and wait, chilled despite the heat of the steam and the water.

His finger brushes across my lower back, tracing the A, first, then the heart. I close my eyes and smile, knowing I made the right decision there, branding him on me, proving ownership.

His light touch makes goosebumps erupt on my wet skin. When he steps forward and presses his body against mine, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his chest.

His dick hardens and presses against me, but I don’t think he’s there, at least not mentally. He’s still tracing my tattoo, seemingly in his own world.

When he finally breaks the silence, he says the words I’ve been waiting to hear for what seems like my whole life.

“I love you.”

My eyes fly open.

“I don’t understand why , though.”

His voice sounds so pained, I can’t even bask in the glow of triumph. I frown at the back wall of the shower as he exhales loudly, bringing his hands to my waist.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” he rasps against my ear.

I’m wet all over, but especially down below. Not that it matters. Doesn’t seem like he’s interested. And if that’s the case, I wish he’d stop talking to me like this. It’s making me crazy.

His lips graze my ear again, then trail a path down the side of my neck. I stifle a moan, gripping the soap so hard, it bends beneath my touch.

I want him so bad, it hurts.

It’s a feeling I can’t control, but that doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as it used to. In fact, I’m calm. Relaxed. It’s just yearning I feel, not panic.

“I fuckin’ hate this shit,” he groans against my neck. “I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t,” I moan.

He nips the skin on the back of my neck, and it’s all I can take. I slip the soap back on the shelf and turn to face him as steam curls around our bodies.

I run my hands up his chest, savoring the solid feel of him against my palms. His muscles flex like he’s fighting a war with himself, so I drag my nails down, teasing, trying to make him lose, watching as his abs clench and his breath hitches.

“Look at me,” I demand, pressing closer, letting my nipples brush against his wet skin. He obliges, bringing his sad eyes to mine. Water drenches my face as I blink up at him through wet lashes.

“Don’t let me go, Ace. Please .”

His eyes are dark, wild, and filled with a hunger I can practically taste. When I reach between us, wrapping my hand around the thick, hard length of him, his entire body jolts like I shocked him with electricity.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his head falling back against the shower wall. His hands fall to my hips, gripping tight, digging into my flesh as the war rages on.

I stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse against my palm, loving the low, rumbling growl in his throat. It’s so desperate and needy, it sends a shiver up my spine.

He’s gonna fold. I can feel it. I can see it. The white flag is right there, he just has to wave it. One wave, and I’ll be on my knees gagging on him.

His eyes snap back to mine. “Raya,” he grits, like a warning signal.

But I don’t stop. I speed up, going up on my toes to press my mouth to his jaw, trailing soft kisses down his neck, feeling his pulse against my lips.

“Baby…” he trails off, his hands moving up, fingers brushing my nipples. I shudder, arching into him, but just when I think he’s about to surrender, he curses under his breath and steps back.

I feel it instantly. A cold emptiness.

He stares up at the ceiling, his body heaving with deep breaths. He’s trying to get himself under control, but that’s not what I want. I want him reckless. Off center.

I stare at him, my own breathing heavy, my body aching from the loss of his touch. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he wants, and it’s putting me back on the edge.

Nobody wins when I’m on the edge.

Without a word, he snatches his towel from the hook and wraps it around his waist before shoving past me and stepping out of the shower.

I stay there, barely feeling the water pounding against my skin, my hands clenched into fists like I’m holding onto something that isn’t there anymore.