Page 63 of The Suit

Something was happening to me.

Maybe I was in an alternate universe where my world had been turned upside down; black was white, dark was light, hate was love… No, not love. Like, a little bit. A veryverysmall bit.

Whatever it was, nothing was as it should be. Nothing.

In less than a day, he’d succeeded in getting me to open up more than any therapist had before him, and he hadn’t even asked. Or maybe it wasn’t a day, maybe this was a decade in the making. Years and years, plus thousands and thousands of dollars spent for nothing, when the only currency needed was orgasms; because I hadn’t spoken about Jackson, Muscot, and Santa in a very long time. It also hadn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but it was possible the pain may have been dulled by the potency of the wine and the company I’d been keeping, and most importantly, what he could do to my body – the aching of which currently providing a very clear reminder.

I didn’t know.

In twenty-four hours it had become apparent I actually knew nothing at all. About him, about myself. About what the fuck I thought I was doing, or what was going to do when reality punched me hard in the face.

For a brief moment yesterday, the thick scraping of guilt across my insides had stopped. Stopped gnawing, stopped clawing. Stopped. And I’d laughed. He’d made me laugh. We’d laughed together and reminisced. I’d had fun. With Rafe Latham. Rafe Latham had made me have fun, and given me exactly what I’d needed.

That alone was enough to have me believing in alternate universes.

Either way, I’d felt a happiness I hadn’t known since… well, I couldn’t remember when because I’d been too busy working, making something of my life, and forgot to actuallyhavea life. It was heady and addictive and I wanted to feel it again, to see if maybe Iwascapable of doing something that didn’t involve work.

Or fighting.

Or lying.

His hand flexed across my stomach, like he was scared I’d escape if he let go of me.

I had thought about it; about sneaking out in the night like I’d done during the week, but I hadn’t been able to follow through. I’d stabbed myself with a double-edged sword and it came with a heavy price; that feeling of happiness was finite. Come Tuesday morning, everything would go back to normal. I’d be back at FSJ and we’d be on opposite sides of a courtroom hating each other; even more so once he’d discovered my deceit.

So this - this type of fun, like we should be having nothing but; experiencing this feeling before it vanished -thiswas my punishment. The memory would be my punishment.

Just like all my others.

Because if I really thought about it deep down, the red thread connecting all my therapists and why I never stayed with them was because of the one thing they’d tried to get me to admit – that all my other memories of Jackson, of Santa and Muscot – they were my punishment too. For being here when they weren’t.

This time the punishment was absolutely worth the crime; I’d stolen, I’d cheated, and I’d lied. My sentence was a lifetime with the memory of the most wonderful twenty-four hours I’d ever had, because no matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to forget it.

I hadn’t even asked why he’d been at the hospital yesterday, scooping me up and letting me cry in his lap until I had nothing left.

Whatever the opposite of serendipity was, that’s what was happening.

As he shuffled again, I took the opportunity to stretch my leg which was mostly trapped under his massive thigh and something akin to a squeak escaped from me as I caught sight of the time.

“Ohmygod,” I hissed to myself, but too loudly it seemed as Rafe’s hand shifted and pulled me further into his warmth.

“What’s going on?” his deep, gruff, sleep filled voice licked across my body like a flame, heating me from top to toe.

“It’s nine a.m.!”

One eye started to open, but then stopped like he thought better of it. “Yeah, so?”

So… exactly. I didn’t have an answer for him, except I didn’t think in my entire adult life I’d ever slept past six a.m. Not that I had this morning either, but I had stayed in bed which was almost the same thing. The Hamptons was an extension of New York, right? Only explanation for my total personality transplant.

“Holmes?” One clear blue eye fully opened this time, just to double check on whether I was having some kind of meltdown, which I was. “What? What could be going on in that brain of yours so early in the morning?”

“Nothing, nothing... forget it. Go back to sleep.”

He moaned slightly and his breathing softened as he drifted off in a way I was more envious of than anything I’d been in my life. But then his fingers started tracing whorls along my skin, sending shivers of anticipation as they ghosted across my belly over and over before starting their descent to the place I could still feel him from last night. Where I was already slick with hot longing for him, even though it had only been hours since the last time. It was like he’d studied a blueprint of my body and knew exactly where to find every single button.

“Now you’ve woken me up…” he growled as his fingers kept exploring, my legs falling apart of their own accord, “may as well make the most of the early morning.”

My back arched as his fingers slipped over my clit, barely touching until one thick finger found its intended mark, followed by another, curling up and hitting thatexactspot, the one he owned like no one ever had, and staked claim with a firmly planted dick-shaped flag.

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