Cracks in the Armor

Sarah

I pulled into an empty spot at the back of The Sanctuary. This lot was reserved for staff. It prevented patrons from following dancers and waitresses to their cars at the end of the night. It also allowed management to keep an eye on some of the girls who liked to make a little money on the side.

I popped the trunk and cut the engine. Preparing myself mentally for the night ahead, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was just six hours. Then I could go home and wash away the stink and the dirty feeling that came with this job. At least tomorrow I didn’t have classes, so I could sleep in.

My internship would start in less than two weeks. I didn’t want to think about how little time I’d have then; I was already spread so thin. I hardly had time to hang out with Tenley and Lisa as it was, and I saw Chris once a week if I was lucky. Which I hadn’t been lately. We hadn’t seen each other in sixteen days.

Before I got out of the car, I checked my phone for messages. There was one from Chris, inviting me over once I was done with my shift. I had been excited about seeing Tenley and Lisa tonight and hooking up with Chris later, but I couldn’t pass up the shift when Xander called me in. As much as I wanted to text Chris back and say yes to the invitation, I couldn’t. I had to wait until my shift was finished first. Sometimes the clients got a little too touchy-feely and seeing Chris afterward was too difficult to manage. I shoved the phone in my bag and got out of the car.

I didn’t bother to lock the doors. It had nothing to do with my faith in the security cameras that panned the lot at regular intervals. Or the beefed-up guy manning the back door. Occasionally the security guard got distracted. This happened most often when one of the dancers came out for a “breather.” By leaving the car unlocked, I made sure no thief had to bust a window to get at the nonexistent contents. The only things in there were a box of tissues, a lip balm, and the owner’s manual. The car itself was a piece of junk. Replacing a broken window would cost more than it was worth.

I grabbed my bag from the trunk and headed across the pavement. Max, one of the security guards I knew from having worked at The Dollhouse, was leaning against the door, looking bored. Everyone who worked security was on rotation, according to management. Except for Grant, Xander’s right-hand man; he was practically glued to Xander’s ass. That meant that Max, like the rest of security, spent two hours of his shift back here, staring at parked cars. Their job was to escort the girls to their cars and make sure they weren’t soliciting on the side. Not that it didn’t happen anyway. It just happened less with Xander’s guys.

While my job location had changed, everything else about The Sanctuary echoed The Dollhouse. The dancers were still looking for the same chemical escape, replacing Damen and his drugs with a more consistent provider. Like Sienna, Xander was heavy into the underhanded dealings. Except Xander didn’t have a middle man. He managed the club and dealt at the same time. Girls who brought in the money were also the ones who got bumps for free. From what I’d heard, a lot of things were traded in the privacy of Xander’s office.

“How’s my favorite blonde tonight?” Max asked as he held open the door.

I rolled my eyes, already annoyed. As I went to push past him, his hand shot out, barring my way into the club. I gave him a look and he returned it with a hard stare of his own.

“Someone’s in a mood.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, impatient to get this part of my evening over with. I didn’t want a lecture on attitude from Max. I wanted to get inside, work my shift, and go home. Or go to Chris’s, provided tonight went well and I could wake him up to let me in.

“I need to get changed.”

“What’s the deal, girl? You can’t be going in there dropping this kind of attitude with Xander. Boy will put you on shooter detail for sure.”

I sighed. Max was right. If I showed anything but total compliance, Xander would give me the worst section and have it filled with the lowest of the low to show me how bad things could get. It had happened once already. I wasn’t interested in a repeat, or the half-hour bitch session that would follow.

“I’m just tired. School’s killing me.”

His hard expression softened. “Don’t fuck that up, Sarah.”

“I won’t.”

“You better not. This place should be temporary for you. This isn’t your end game.”

“Don’t make it sound like a death sentence.”

He didn’t crack a smile. “It would be for you.”

I could handle Max when he was pissy or parental, but tonight he looked sad—as though he knew what this place was doing to me. He had a point: I couldn’t afford to let this job interfere with school. My stomach twisted at the thought that I could end up here permanently. I had no intention of following in my mother’s footsteps. I’d worked my ass off to get where I was, and the internship would get me my MBA and the chance to break free from the life I’d been born into.

Max stepped aside and let me pass. He was a good guy. I often wondered what his story was, how he’d ended up here. I didn’t know anything about him other than what he did for a living and his first name. It bothered me that I talked to him every time I worked, but knew almost nothing about him.

I crossed the anteroom and pushed through the door to the main changing room. The usual sights and sounds greeted me: dancers in various stages of undress, primping, applying makeup, pouring themselves into skimpy outfits. The bitchy chatter was a bitter accompaniment to the smell of hair products and too much bare skin.

I hated that this was my life. I hated this job. I hated this place. But I needed it. The fifty-five thousand dollars in tuition loans my scholarship hadn’t covered was enough reason to keep doing it. Once the debt was paid down and I had a respectable job, I’d walk away from this place and never look back.

Most of the dancers ignored me, although a few shot me small smiles as I passed. None of these girls was my friend. My primary objective here was to make money. I crossed into the changing room reserved for waitstaff and set my bag on the bench. Inside was my outfit for the night: short plaid skirt, black boy-short underwear, black lace push-up bra, cropped white button-down that didn’t cover much, and a red tie. The prescription-less glasses completed the look. I always made great tips with the dirty schoolgirl uniform. Men were predictable in their perversions.

Opening my locker, I wished there was a door for privacy. Hinges showed it had been removed and replaced with flimsy curtains you could see through. The no-door policy was for the dancers’ safety, or so Xander said. Protecting investments, as it were. He didn’t want to run the risk of having any of the girls cornered in a room they couldn’t get out of. I didn’t buy it for a second. There was more of a risk for the girls to go after each other than for someone to get past security.

I was just about to strip out of my clothes when I heard the clip of stillies behind me. Dee, short for Destiny, stood in the doorway.

Dee and I had worked together before at The Dollhouse. Unfortunately, I found out recently that she’d once slept with Hayden. It had been long before Tenley, but it was the first thing I thought of whenever I saw her. I didn’t want to be a traitor for liking her, even though Hayden’s past wasn’t my fault. At least she wasn’t one of the many women who’d been in Chris’s bed. I’d heard more than enough about his skill set from a variety of sources.

“You up soon?”

“In about fifteen.” She glanced over her shoulder before she came into the room and stepped to the right, putting her out of everyone else’s line of sight.

“What’s up?” I asked, suddenly on alert.

“I saw the schedule tonight. I think Xander’s going to put you in Candy’s section.”

Candy was one of the other dancers who’d come here from The Dollhouse. Of all the women Chris had been with, Candy was the one I felt most threatened by. They’d actually “dated” once, and from what Dee told me, Chris had been the one to end it. Still, there was history between them and Candy hated me enough for me to know she still carried a torch for him.

On the upside, Candy danced on the main stage, which could mean great tips, but sometimes it also meant lots of assholes who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. “I guess that’s good.”

“It would be if Xander hadn’t given Trixie center stage tonight. Candy’s on left.”

“Are you kidding?” Left was closest to the back rooms where all the illegal action happened. While it was the most heavily watched by security, it was also the section I never waited, because on that side of the club almost anything was for sale.

“I thought you’d want to know before you got out there.”

I nodded, trying to stay calm. On the inside I was scrambling. “Thanks for the heads-up. What happened with Candy?”

“Not sure. All I knows is last night Xander had a whole crew of dirty suits at center and Candy was on. Something musta gone down, but I sure as shit couldn’t tell you what. I gots to get ready—just thought you should know.”

“Thanks.”

She gave me a sympathetic smile and then peeked around the door frame, checking to make sure no one was watching as she slipped back into the main room.

Trixie was new to The Sanctuary; she’d only been dancing for a month. That Xander would give her the main stage over Candy was like a slap in the face. But putting Candy on left stage? That was a big old fuck you in the ass.

I changed quickly, having lost time from the chitchats with Max and Dee. Xander had been known to pop in whenever he felt like it, and I wasn’t keen on him seeing more than what I bared for the masses in the club. He’d caught me once in only underwear. I hadn’t liked the way he looked at me. It wasn’t about the possibility that he might want to get me on my back or my knees. That was a given. I was more worried that he wanted me to move from the floor to the stage, like most of the girls did eventually. Sienna had been pushing me to make the move, but I’d refused. Xander wasn’t so easygoing about it—or anything, for that matter.

I shoved my bag in my locker, checking my phone before I closed it. In the time since I’d arrived I’d missed another message from Chris, but I didn’t have time to check it now. It was something to look forward to when I got a break. If I got a break.

I left the pungent aroma of cheap perfume in the changing room for the smell of beer, cologne, and dirty sex. Of all the things I loathed about The Sanctuary, the smell was the worst. It clung to my hair and my skin, to everything I brought into the place. I learned early on to make sure nothing I wore to The Sanctuary ever made it back into regular outfit rotation. Not that I would ever wear my “work” clothes anywhere outside of this place. Not even the jeans I came to work in ever went back on, unless I was heading to or from the club. Regardless how many times I washed them, I couldn’t get the smell out.

I walked down the long, dimly lit hallway into the club and glanced at the left stage. Candy wasn’t on right now, but Trixie was riding the pole at center stage like she was ready for the real thing. Whatever happened last night had to have been bad. Shutting down my fear—because Xander was like a dog and could sniff it out—I headed for Grant, Xander’s personal bodyguard. He usually knew the schedule. Sometimes if Xander was occupied, Grant would say who was where. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the boss directly.

Of course, that wasn’t the case tonight. Grant took a step to the right as I approached, his massive frame having kept Xander hidden from view. Xander was sitting at the bar, sipping a drink, watching the club. When he saw me he glanced down at his Rolex. “Sarah, so good of you to arrive on time. You know, if you’d been early, like your friend over there”—he gestured to where one of the new girls was waiting in the center section—“then maybe I would have let you pick where you serve.”

I plastered on a smile and twirled my hair around my finger, hoping to appear clueless. “I’m happy to serve anywhere.”

His grin was as lecherous as his gaze, which moved down me in a slow sweep. “Now if that were true, you’d be making a lot more money, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t end up serving left stage. It turned out the girl Xander put on center couldn’t handle the number of tables and we split her section. It was busy, but having to share meant the tips were weak. I walked out with a hundred less than usual in my pocket. It was a message from Xander. He was going to start pushing harder, just like Sienna had done. I could only wait tables for so much longer before the request that I get up onstage became a demand. The problem was, unlike Sienna, Xander wouldn’t let up until I folded.

At the end of my shift I changed out of my slut attire and back into my jeans and T-shirt, then headed out the back door. The security guard had changed. He was one of the ones I didn’t know. Or trust.

He gave me a sidelong glance. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

“I’m right there.” I pointed to my Tercel.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s your ride?”

It wasn’t much of a ride, compared to some of the flashy cars parked out here. The girls who performed the best also got the best perks, leased cars being one of them. I was perfectly happy not to be among the privileged few. “Yeah. Have a good night.”

“I think I should walk you over.”

I was parked under one of the lights. If he was looking for a little end-of-night action, it wasn’t the most covert place to have it happen. He must have read the skepticism in my expression.

“One of the guys on camera detail warned me that some dude was out here fucking around by the cars. It was during shift change, so there wasn’t anyone here. I’d feel better if you let me check things out.”

I glanced nervously at my car and shrugged. “Yeah. Okay.”

I trailed behind him as he stalked across the lot. He walked around the vehicle, looking for . . . signs of forced entry maybe? When he didn’t find anything sinister, I pulled on the handle to find that it was locked.

“Huh, that’s odd.”

His shoulders rolled back and his eyes shot around the dark lot. “What?” His hand went behind him, as if he was getting ready to go for a piece. It wasn’t the first time I suspected the security was armed with more than brass knuckles and walkies.

“I don’t lock my doors.”

“What?” He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Do you see this?” I gestured to the Tercel and then motioned around the lot. “Of all the cars here, who would choose mine to steal?” I peered into the backseat. All the doors had been locked. Only one person would do that.

I rummaged around in my purse until I found my keys. After unlocking the door, I bent down and felt around under the front seat until my fingers closed around a keychain. I bit my lip to stop the stupid grin from breaking out. Though it would be more convenient to have my own key, there was satisfaction in knowing he’d drop one off for me because he wanted to see me. “It’s cool. My b— friend was just leaving me a key.” I almost stumbled over the word.

“Next time, tell your friend to leave it with one of us instead of sneaking around back here. We’ll get it to you.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Chris would never leave his key with one of these beefcakes. I slid into the driver’s seat and let the bouncer shut my door. He waited until I pulled out of the spot before he ambled back to his post. He was a lot nicer than some of the other guys who worked for Xander, surprisingly.

I checked my phone at the first red light. There were several texts from Chris—the most recent were admonishments for not locking my doors. The ones before and after contained an invitation to stay the night and a message about the key he left under the driver’s seat. Tonight hadn’t been bad, so I wasn’t about to pass up the offer. I was glad I’d packed an overnight bag, as I always did.

I pulled into the parking spot reserved for Chris’s bike. He’d angled it at the top of the space so there would be enough room for my car. He was always thoughtful like that. It made me feel like a bitch for not inviting him over to my place more often, where parking wasn’t an issue.

It had been too long since I’d spent any real time with him. I didn’t like how much that bothered me, or how excited I’d been about the text and key. That I constantly packed a bag in advance was a red flag I chose to ignore.

I was quiet as I made the trek up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door. The light above the ancient, avocado-green stove was on, casting a pale glow over the dated kitchen. There was a note propped up on the counter with my name written across the front in Chris’s elegant cursive. I always teased him that he wrote like a girl.

I set my bag down quietly, though a bomb could go off and Chris would sleep right through it. I left my shoes on, because Chris insisted I never walk barefoot around his place, and crossed over to the counter. There were little doodles in the corners of the note he left me. Designs that reminded me of the tattoos he put on other people. Ones he refused to put on me.

Hey sweetlips,

I hope you had a decent night. There are fresh towels in the bathroom and a sandwich in the fridge. Give me a kiss before you pass out.

~Chris

I folded it and put it carefully inside my bag. I had a little box of notes like these from him in my bedroom. I kept every single one.

My next stop was the bathroom. I shut the door and checked the showerhead to make sure it was pointed at the wall. If it wasn’t, the water would spray out of the tub and soak the floor. I’d found that out the hard way. It took a long time for the water to heat up, so I removed the fake eyelashes and the makeup while I waited. Although Chris’s bathroom wasn’t particularly nice, it had the benefit of a powerful showerhead. The spray came so fast and hard it almost hurt.

I used Chris’s soap and shampoo. They weren’t anything special, just some no-name Axe knock-offs, but they made me smell like him. He’d left me two towels: one to dry off and one for my hair. Hanging from the back of the door was my favorite shirt of his. I pulled it over my head, wrapped my hair in the towel, and went back to the kitchen.

The sandwich was exactly the way I liked it. On thick sourdough, it was piled high with ham, cheese, lettuce, and mayo. I checked the other messages on my phone while I ate, my stomach rumbling even as I filled it.

When I was done, I put the plate in the sink and headed for Chris’s room. It was sparse, just a bed, a dresser, and a night table with a lamp and a digital clock. The bed was the nicest thing Chris owned, aside from his bike. The mattress was soft and plush, his sheets always satin smooth and freshly washed. It was the only reason I preferred to stay at his place over mine. The headboard was a solid wood piece of art he’d gotten from Serendipity, the antique store my landlady owned. She also happened to be Hayden’s aunt.

As I pushed open the door, the dim light from the hall brought him into view. He was sprawled out over the bed, a massive mountain of muscle and ink. I stood there for a long while, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his back. His sandy blond hair was cut short, making the hard angles of his face seem more severe, especially cast in shadow as they were. But when he smiled all that menace melted away, replaced by boyish good looks that charmed the pants off more women than I could count, myself included.

He moved his arm, muscles flexing as his hand fanned out over the sheets and stopped at the unclaimed pillow beside his head. His brows came down, a deep furrow replacing the softer lines of peaceful sleep. After a moment his hand drifted higher, fingers curling around his own pillow, and he relaxed back into unconsciousness.

I left the door ajar so there was enough light to make the trip to the bed. The sheets were cool as I slipped between them, sinking into the mattress. I was beyond wiped.

I was under no delusion that the exhaustion wasn’t going to get worse when I started my internship. I’d heard horror stories from some of the other people in my program. How they were given projects to develop or manage outside of work hours that kept them up all night. I didn’t get much sleep as it was. The possibility that I might get even less in the coming months worried me.

I sighed as my head hit the pillow, easing into the comfort of Chris’s bed. As soon as I pulled the sheets up, he rolled onto his side. His arm came over me, pulling me closer. His hand moved down, along my thigh until he reached the hem of the shirt and hit bare skin. And then it was a case of under and up, his wide palm flattened against my stomach. He curled around my body, knees pushing into mine, his chest against my back.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said softly.

I felt his nose as he burrowed through my hair, warm breath against my neck, finally replaced by his lips.

“S’okay,” he replied in a sleep-heavy voice. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me, too.” I put my hand over his and laced our fingers, pulling his arm farther around me.

Soft kisses brushed along my neck, shoving down the exhaustion and waking up the part of me I turned off as a protective measure every time I went to work. It was difficult to compartmentalize the constant attention of The Sanctuary’s clientele. Occasionally, a little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that Chris had been among them at The Dollhouse. But he hadn’t fit the typical profile.

He’d never tried to touch me when I worked, never made a crass comment. He’d been the pinnacle of politeness. Sure, he’d been flirtatious and persistent, telling me I was beautiful, asking me out for coffee, but that was as far as it went. He always looked me in the eye when I waited on his table, instead of at my chest or whatever other skin was exposed. I hadn’t known how to take him at first.

“You have an okay night?” Chris asked.

“It wasn’t bad.”

He stopped nuzzling my neck and his body stiffened. I hoped he hadn’t read anything into the noncommittal answer. “Anyone put their hands on you?”

“No, baby.” Not tonight, anyway.

It was the main reason I’d been able to come to his place. I couldn’t face him after the nights with unasked-for physical contact. He was too good at calling out my lies. So when something happened that I didn’t want to tell him about, I avoided his texts and waited until the next day to get back to him. Beyond that, I couldn’t manage his affection on those nights, even if it was wanted. The internal conflict was too much to handle. As if I’d been cheating on him, even though I wasn’t. I couldn’t stand it.

His body relaxed again and I felt his cheek against my neck. He’d shaved tonight. For me. It made me feel good and bad. I knew he didn’t expect anything. He’d be just as happy to snuggle and fall right back to sleep until I gave him the go ahead for something more.

It had been too long since we’d been together. I missed the physical release almost as much as I missed his bed, his arms, and his gentle way. I turned over to face him, the thin slice of light from the hall just enough to make out his shadowy features. Sliding a hand up his bare chest, my palm came to rest at the nape of his neck.

“Wanna make out?” he asked huskily.

“Mm. I’d like that.”

“Cool.”

I grinned in the darkness and waited for his mouth. Except it didn’t come. The hand on my waist disappeared. I inhaled sharply at the slow glide of his fingers along my arm. When they reached my neck, he pushed my damp hair back, tucking it behind my ear. I closed my eyes on a deep exhale. There was such intimacy in the way he traced the contours of my face, it made it difficult to meet his gaze. I could feel his eyes on me, though. When his fingers touched my lips, I let them part. The pad of his thumb swept along the bottom one.

“Sarah,” he whispered.

I opened my eyes as I sucked his thumb into my mouth. His face was a picture of masculine desire. Eyes hooded and intense, lips parted. I bit down, licking at the pad, watching the muscle under his right eye twitch. His thumb disappeared, replaced by his mouth. His lips were velvet soft.

His tongue met mine in a languid rhythm. It became almost maddening, the longer it went on, and then he took my lower lip between his, dragging his teeth across it. He wouldn’t take it any farther. He was waiting for the “green light,” as he called it. Early on, I’d realized that if we were ever going to get to the next level, as in get naked, I would have to be the one to initiate it. That hadn’t changed over the last several months.

I pushed through the sheets until I was pressed up against him, hoping that would make clear what I wanted. If he clued in, it didn’t register in the kiss. He just kept up that same slow, drugging rhythm. I dug my fingernails into the back of his neck and pressed my hips into his, desperate for more. I could feel him through his boxers, huge and hard and ready, just like the rest of him.

He pulled back. “What’s going on, baby?”

I didn’t like that he wasn’t all up on me anymore, or kissing me. “Why aren’t you touching me?”

“I am touching you.” His thumb brushed back and forth over my cheek and he kissed the end of my nose.

“Not where I want.” I abandoned the back of his neck and snuck a hand between us, palming his erection through his boxers.

“Huh.” He looked vaguely amused. “That’s weird, ’cause you’re touching me right where I want.”

I squeezed. The teasing smile fell and his lip curled into the approximation of a snarl. He grabbed my hand and in a quick move rolled over on top of me. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist before he had a chance to stop me.

“I like this even better.” He laced our fingers together and kissed the back of my hand.

When I tried to grab his ass with the other one, he snatched it up as well. On the positive side, it meant his pelvis was in line with mine.

“You should take my shirt off,” I suggested sweetly.

“You think? But then your hands will be free; and who knows what will happen then, what with my magnetic cock and all.” When I huffed, he laughed and then grew serious. “It’s been more than two weeks, Sarah. I have no plans to make this end quickly. I’d rather take my sweet time getting where you want me, if it’s all the same to you.”

“If you’d take your damn boxers off, you’d be exactly where I want you.”

“Oh? So that’s what your problem is?”

He gathered my wrists in one hand, his hold gentle. I could slip free if I wanted. Then he shoved his boxers down and repositioned himself so that hard length rested right where I needed it. He circled his hips, giving me what I craved.

I met his hot stare. “I want to put my hands on you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he released them. Grabbing the hem of my shirt I drew it over my head, then I ran my palms down the solid expanse of his back, stopping at his ass. Pushing down hard, I shifted under him. His erection slid low, close but not quite there.

“I’m not getting in you yet,” he said.

“Please, Chris. I miss you. I just want you.” Usually when I said that kind of thing, in that pleading tone, he folded instantly.

Not this time.

His head dropped and I felt his lips against my shoulder. They parted and the sharp sting of his teeth told me he was fighting the plea. There was something in the heavy weight of his body and the tightness in his muscles that warned me not to push tonight. I stopped resisting and relaxed, absorbing his weight.

“That’s my girl.” He started back up with the kissing. With each stroke of his tongue, his hips pulled back and eased forward, providing a hint of relief and a whole lot of frustration.

He broke away again, his mouth moving down, over my chin, my throat, between my breasts. I groaned as the heat and pressure of his erection disappeared, but he fixed the problem when his hand moved between my thighs. Two fingers slid inside me while his lips closed around a nipple.

I arched under him, fingers diving into his hair, holding him there. He licked and nibbled, his fingers moving with the same indolence. And then his head dipped lower; mouth moving over my stomach until he was finally between my legs. He sucked on the skin at the juncture of my thigh, his eyes lifting to mine as he kissed his way over to my clit. His lips parted and brushed back and forth. I bit back a moan at the silky smooth stroke of his tongue.

His arms wrapped around my thighs and he nuzzled in, getting comfortable. “So fucking good,” he murmured.

“Chris,” I pleaded, fingertips drifting over his cheek to the corner of his mouth.

Lips wet and glistening, he lifted his head and bit my finger. “What’s up, baby?”

“Don’t stop.”

He dropped his head and gave my clit a kiss.

“I missed the way your mouth feels on me.”

“Yeah?”

I groaned when his teeth replaced his tongue. The overwhelming sensation was short-lived, though, because he paused once again to ask, “You miss anything else?”

I opened my eyes and looked down, sensing the vulnerability in his tone. “I missed everything.”

His smile was triumphant as he bent his head. I closed my eyes and let the feel of his mouth unravel me.

As I came down from the luscious high, Chris kissed his way lazily up my body. He expression was gravely serious when he asked, “You good now? Wanna call it quits and go to sleep?”

“Not a chance in hell.” I kissed his neck and wrapped my legs around his hips. I was slick from his mouth and the orgasm. His deep groan had me lifting my hips just to hear more of it. The head of his cock slipped inside me. Chris’s body went taut. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I hooked my foot around my ankle anyway, securing our position.

He pushed up on one arm, eyes wide. “Whoa, baby, hold up a second.”

He ran a palm down the outside of my thigh until he reached the back of my knee. He gave a gentle tug. I clamped my legs tight against his hips, aware I was no match for his strength. He went a little deeper. His shock turned into something more like panic.

“Shit, Sarah.” His jaw locked and his grip on my leg tightened.

I unhooked them and he broke the connection. I smoothed my hand down his chest, over the solid wall of muscle. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

Chris gave me a dark look and leaned over, fumbling with the drawer on his nightstand. He found the box of condoms and yanked out a row, ripping free a foil square. I grabbed it and tore it open. His full lips parted as I rolled it down his length.

Settling between my thighs, he eased inside.

“This right here,” he said as his hips came flush with mine. “This was what I missed.”

“Mm. Me, too.”

Just as the lead-up had been a slow progression to the first orgasm, this was, too. He kissed me again, penetrating my mouth in time with his deep, slow thrusts.

He pushed up on his forearm and kept his eyes locked on my face as he moved over me, forcing intimacy that had been foreign in the beginning when we started this. But now I liked the way he focused on me so intensely. For all his harshness he was an exceedingly gentle lover.

“Sarah, baby, you gonna come again?” He faltered and lost his rhythm. “Please. For me?”

I was already so close, his words undid me. As soon as I came he stilled, eyes glazing over as his mouth dropped open. A tremor passed through him, every muscle tightening in response.

Before he collapsed, he unlocked my legs from his hips and slid an arm under my back. Then he rolled us to the side so he wouldn’t crush me. Eventually he pulled out, and as always, the vacancy spread all the way to my chest. The comedown after the high of the orgasm made me feel hollow inside.

He picked up the end of my hair and twirled it between his fingers. “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“Twice,” I joked.

“Because I’m awesome.” He smiled, but something dark lurked under his expression. It was gone before I could pin it down, though.

“Better than awesome.” I kissed him again, but after too short a time, he broke it off with a chaste peck and rolled onto his back. I snuggled into his side and put my head on his chest. “Wake me up before you leave in the morning?”

“Sure thing, sugarlips.”

He yawned and settled against his pillow. I stayed close until my neck started to cramp and my face grew damp from resting on his chest. He was already fast asleep, his breathing deep and even. So typical. Sex was like a sedative for men. I, on the other hand, was wide awake.

Sitting up, I carefully lifted the dead weight of his arm, setting his hand on his pecs. Then I turned on my side to face him, bunching up the soft pillow he’d bought after I complained his were too poofy. I stared at his profile, brutally masculine even in repose. All those hard lines didn’t ease up in the slightest. Except when he smiled. That warm smile of his had been rare lately. The trial over Hayden’s parents’ murder had been hard on Chris, and I didn’t know how to help him through it. He didn’t want to talk about it with me, or anyone, from what I could tell. He was like that, silent in his pain. His hard edges had been part of the attraction, a dangerous allure. I fell asleep staring at the cityscape that covered his arm, wishing I knew how to be as permanent as his body art.

I woke up alone in Chris’s bed. The blackout curtains he used to keep the daylight from penetrating his room were drawn tight, so I’d slept much longer than I would have if I’d stayed at my own place. The clock on his nightstand told me it was one in the afternoon. He’d left for work more than an hour ago. There was a note on his pillow.

You looked so peaceful drooling on my pillow, I didn’t want to wake you. Stop by the shop if you have time before you go to work tonight.

~Chris

I wiped the corner of my mouth, then smoothed my hand across the pillow. It wasn’t damp. I smiled and dropped back down, enjoying the quiet but not the emptiness of Chris’s bed without him in it. Eventually I got up. I had final assignments to complete, and I’d already wasted the entire morning sleeping. I hit the bathroom and groaned as I got a look at my hair; it had dried all wonky from having gone to bed with it wet. Not to mention the rat’s nest of tangles after being under Chris. I wet my hair and brushed out the knots as best I could, then pulled it back into a ponytail.

Once I was done in the bathroom, I changed out of his shirt and into my own clothes. I made the bed, even though half the time Chris couldn’t be bothered, and honestly, neither could I. I only made the effort if Chris was coming by and planned to get me naked on it later. Messing up a tidy bed with him was fun.

After stuffing everything back into my overnight bag, I went to the kitchen. A Post-it was stuck to the fridge with “OPEN ME” written on it. I smiled and checked inside. Chris was a horrible cook. He turned pasta into mush most of the time, but the man could do two things incredibly well: sandwiches and smoothies.

On the second shelf was the top portion of his blender. Inside were layers of fruit and yogurt and whatever other stuff Chris had put in there to make it taste as awesome as it always did. I set the container on the base. A second Post-It was stuck to the lid. I heeded the “BLEND ME” instructions and hit the puree button, watching the contents swirl together. The end result was deep purple. I poured the concoction into the take-out cup Chris had left for me and went about cleaning up, leaving everything in the drying rack on the counter.

As I sipped the smoothie my gaze drifted to the right, where I’d left his apartment key last night. It was still there.

I picked it up, flipping it between my fingers. Chris never asked for it back, but he never told me to keep it, either. So I put it down for him to see, wondering if one day there’d be a Post-it saying “KEEP ME” attached to it. Which was silly, because it wasn’t something I should care about.

But I did. I wanted that key on my chain.

And that said a lot about my feelings for Chris. He was everything I wanted, but I was too scared to get close. If that happened, he’d let me down eventually—just like everyone else did.