Thrive Page 4

  “I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” My stomach tightened at his rough tone and a desperate whimper left me, stealing my composure. “You don’t want me, Skillet?”

  He hands slid lower, resting on my belly and holding me tighter. That word, that fucking name, made me want to scream; to claw and thrash and bite. I tried, but he held me still, stopping me from putting up a fight. I wanted to fight back, to hurt; I wanted to inflict an unmeasurable amount of pain on Cut Throat fucking Curtis.

  “No.”

  “Oh, baby.” His hand slipped between my legs and held me with a firm grip. My hips rolled involuntarily into him as my legs squeezed around his wrist. “Your body is telling a different story.”

  “Curtis, please. People will see us.”

  “You don’t want an audience?”

  He yanked me backwards, pulling me towards the house, never loosening his grip on me. I closed my eyes and waited for his next move. My body spun and my face was pressed to something cold; my nipples stiffened against my bra and the cold surface I was thrust into, and Curtis eased his hand onto the back of my neck to hold me where he wanted me. I opened my eyes. My cheek was pressed to the wall of the lodge.

  “Curtis, please.”

  “Say it,” he breathed and pulled my hips back with the same aggression that laced his voice.

  “Say what?”

  “Just say no, Skillet…and say it like you mean it.”

  He tugged my waistband. I groaned and closed my eyes. I could give in, just for a minute.

  “I…I can’t.”

  In one swift move, Curtis pulled my jeans and underwear to my ankles and the cold morning air nipped at my exposed flesh. I shrieked when his mouth collided with my swollen, moist heat and I tried to wiggle free, but his hands squeezed my ass, parting me for his tongue to lap and stroke. My hands curled into tight balls; I pounded them against the wall as the pleasure slammed into me. Curtis’ face was buried between my legs, open for all to see, but I didn’t care. I needed this. My legs trembled and my teeth dug into my bottom lip, drawing blood to the surface to keep the scream contained. I closed my eyes as my mind spun with unwanted but desperate pleasure. My legs buckled as Curtis stood up, wrapped his arms around me and rammed his cock in deep in one rough, unrestrained move. His thrusts were hard, relentless, shunting me into the wall and giving me no time to think, or breathe. When he was inside me, filling me, controlling my body, my thoughts evaporated. I knew it was wrong, unhealthy, dangerous, but I couldn’t stop it. For the precious few moments we were together, I was his; mind, body and soul. Willingly…and it terrified me.

  The tears welled up and began to stream from my eyes as my body climbed higher and the tension, the oncoming explosion, moved in, edging ever closer until it surrounded me. Curtis held onto my waist with one hand and the fingers of the other tangled in my hair. The grunts that escaped him, the hisses that left through clenched teeth, sent me higher and I was soon moaning freely, giving into the pleasure that surged through me and washed away my sins. I knew Curtis was close, holding on for me, but I couldn’t do it. His body was tense, his movements rough and uneven. His swollen cock, as deep as my body would allow, stroked the spot inside me that was like a switch, guaranteed to have me exploding in seconds. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let go.

  “Skye.” He pulled my hair harder, as if to grab my attention and bring me out of a trance.

  It worked. My body trembled as it fought against my mind, desperate for a release I couldn’t find. My hands clawed at the wall, searching for a grip, an outlet for the pleasure, but it failed.

  “Skye,” Curtis growled, growing impatient. He was resisting his own release because I hadn’t found mine.

  “I can't,” I choked, reaching behind me to grab his ass and dig my nails in deep.

  His movements slowed, his hips rolled with long, deliberate strokes and I gasped, a groan forming low in my throat. His hands loosened their hold and one came up to caress the curve of my spine. Another tear fell and I squeezed my eyes shut. He’d gone from animal to angel in a beat and my heart couldn’t keep up. He knew what I needed. A connection more than something mindless – more than something physical.

  “Come with me,” I breathed, my voice a needy cry for comfort. “Please, Curtis. Come with me.”

  His fingers flexed, a groan vibrated through him and travelled through me, setting my blood on fire. He slowed further, each move deliberately comforting as he searched for his release. As his hand stroked my hair, his other moved around the front to gently lead me to the edge.

  “Come, Curtis.” I rolled my hips. “Come for me, baby.”

  He gripped my hips, held me still and let himself go, spilling into me. The pulse of his cock throbbing inside me sent me over the edge and finally, my body found freedom.

  ***

  We were in the car; where we were heading, I had no idea. I was too exhausted, physically and mentally, to risk another argument, so I sat quietly and watched fields of trees and little rows of houses and shops whip by the window.

  We’d said nothing since our bodies parted. Curtis ordered me to go and clean up and he carried our bags to reception when we checked out. We were raw after what happened, we both knew that, and talking about it would have led to another disagreement. We were so out of sync, but fucked up enough by each other to find a rhythm that worked for us. He needed to give without taking from me; I knew he felt like he owed me – for the past, the present and for whatever the future held for us. But I couldn’t take without giving. I wasn’t innocent.

  Rewind eleven years.

  If I had made a different choice, life would have been different. For everyone. If I had refused to take Oliver’s money, refused to leave Curtis, things would have been different. Curtis and I might not have made it but we would have no regrets – no what ifs hanging over us. Thomas would have found someone who deserved him and gave him everything he deserved; marriage, children and someone to grow blissfully old with. I ruined that, by taking thirty thousand pounds and running away.

  Curtis and I had both made mistakes and we were searching for forgiveness in each other; something neither of us could find because we didn’t have it to give. We were stuck in limbo and that frightened me. We weren’t good for each other, but we were drawn together; bound by some invisible and confusing force. I had no idea if we would find the healing we both so desperately longed for…or if we would tear each other apart and be left with nothing. Again.

  The sound of a phone ringing cut through the muted radio speakers and brought me out of my thoughts. Curtis pushed a button on the steering wheel and answered the call.

  “Angelica.”

  “Good morning, Mr Mason.” A carefree voice drifted out of the speakers; a professional voice with a formality that told me they shared an understanding. “How was your weekend?”

  “Good. Angelica, I’m not alone. What’s up?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she stuttered. “Are you coming into the office?”

  “Why?”

  “Yusef needs those reports signed. There’s a problem with one of the boys. Dale was arrested for getting into a bar brawl over the weekend. And…” Her voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper. “Ms Tattersell is looking for you.”

  Why did she say that nervously? Who was Ms Tattersell?

  “I’m on my way in.”

  “Thanks, boss. See you soon.”

  Curtis pressed the button again and the call ended.

  “Your secretary?” I asked, crossing my arms and returning my gaze to outside the window.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you fuck her to get her to do what you want, too?”

  “Don’t start.” His hands twisted on the wheel. “I employ her. I make sure she pays her rent and feeds her kids.”

  Kids. I shuddered.

  “And who’s Ms Tattersell?” No answer. I glanced over at him. His face was expressionless, his eyes straight ahead; his hands still gripped the wheel until his knuc
kles were white. “Curtis?”

  “I heard you,” he snapped.

  “And you’re not going to answer me.”

  I sank into the seat, the warmth doing nothing for the cold anger that smothered me. Curtis sighed.

  “There are things I can't tell you, Skye,” he said. “You just have to trust me.”

  I pulled my phone out of my bag and unlocked the screen, swiping through the menus and looking at nothing in particular.

  “Skillet?”

  “I heard you.” My time to snap. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “I don’t. You tell me nothing, you keep me here, away from my sister on her wedding day, and you give me no reason to trust you. So no, I don’t. You won't let me leave? Fine. I’ll stick around until you get bored and send me away again.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I dropped my phone back into my bag and twisted my body to face the window with my back to Curtis.

  “It’s dangerous. Just, please, trust me on that. I’m trying to keep you safe. I have to keep you in the dark until I figure this out.”

  “Fine.”

  That was the only response he got, the only one he was going to get, and he offered no further explanation. Obviously.

  Five

  “Ms Tattersell is looking for you.”

  Well, fanfuckingtastic. Drop a man in the shit when his manipulative witch of a girlfriend is waiting to tighten the lock on the shackles; when the love of his life, the woman he lost for most of it and sacrificed in a moment of selfless clarity (if you can call it that,) is sitting next to him begging to know what’s going on and why her life just got turned upside down, ripped inside out and then fucked backwards on a bed of nails.

  Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

  It’s okay, God, I think I’ve suffered enough.

  All I had to do was divert Charlie, keep Skye in one place so she was safe, and sign the goddamn papers for Yusef. Selling up and becoming a recluse was becoming more tempting than I cared to admit. And losing my sense of smell seemed quite appealing when the scent of Skye was replaced with that of the woman who owned me, no matter how much I claimed to be the alpha.

  ~Curtis~

  The building Curtis worked in was huge, tall and contemporary, fitting seamlessly into the major business district of Tower Hamlets. He parked the car on the pavement, and before we even had time to climb out, a suited man was opening the driver’s door and holding his hand out for the keys. He slid into the seat when Curtis vacated it and peeled away as we headed through the front doors of the building. I had a hard time imagining Curtis working in a business environment, which told me how much he had changed, as had I. He used to be cocky, unpredictable and so full of charisma that I had trouble believing he would fit in here.

  He took hold of my elbow and steered me through the foyer, pulling me in front of him to push us through the turnstile together as he scanned his card for entry. He was nervous, panicking; that tiny amount of contact, a fraction of the physical touch I craved, told me he was uncomfortable. He didn’t want me here.

  “Maybe you should have just locked me in the boot or something,” I sneered as we stepped into an awaiting lift.

  “What?”

  “It’s obvious you don’t want me here.”

  “I want you wherever I am,” he said softly. I nodded, marginally reassured. Why was I relieved? I was so pissed off, all it would take to make me snap was a flash of red cloth; yet here I was, clinging onto every word that rolled from his tongue like a desperate, love-sick teenager.

  As the lift slowed to a stop, Curtis cupped my face and pressed a soft, firm kiss to my forehead.

  “Forgive me,” he said, his voice arousing a sheet of goosebumps to the surface of my skin.

  Before I could ask what for, the door opened and he spun around, taking off into reception; his long, powerful strides left me unable to keep up.

  “Show her to the conference room,” he said to the pretty middle-aged woman at the main desk.

  He pointed indifferently over his shoulder towards me and I stopped still, watching him disappear behind a black door labelling it as belonging to Curtis Mason, MD. Managing director? He owned the place. I didn’t see that coming.

  And I didn’t see the woman approach me; I recognised her as Angelica when she spoke.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked, gesturing for me to enter a room opposite her desk. “Tea? Coffee? Mr Mason won't be long.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” I turned to face her as I entered the room. “Tell Curtis he has got ten minutes, and then I’m leaving.”

  “He’s asked not to be disturbed.”

  “Then let’s pray for telepathy.”

  I dropped into the leather chair at the head of the table, crossed one leg over the other and gave her my most intimidating sneer. She nodded, unfazed, and closed the door when she left.

  I drummed my fingers on the desk and looked around. The table stretched the length of the room; there was a TV on two of the walls, a whiteboard with a projector fixed to the ceiling overhead, and it smelled like lemon. I tried to be patient and keep my back to the glass wall that looked out onto the open area of Curtis’ business – whatever it was – but curiosity got the better of me and I spun the chair around, half expecting to see him fucking Angelica over her desk. But my eyes moved beyond her as she sat at her desk on the phone and looked at her computer, to Curtis’ office. The slats of the blinds were down, haphazardly closed in haste, and had left the two people inside exposed.

  Curtis stood in the centre of the room, in all his dark, brooding glory, facing off with a woman; she was tall, elegant and dressed in a figure-hugging, curve-accentuating white dress, with loose blonde curls bouncing against her back as she spoke heatedly. From fifteen feet away, I could see the vivid red of her stiletto pumps – the same shade as her lips. Whoever she was – the mysterious Ms Tattersell, I assumed – she fought Curtis’ fire with the same inferno he possessed. She could match him. They were merely inches apart and I could feel the chemistry. It was like they held the only source of oxygen on the fifteenth floor. I stood unsteadily from the chair and moved to the door. Angelica was engrossed in her task and I turned the door handle, opened the door slowly, and sneaked out. I passed her desk unnoticed and rushed along the short passage to the lift. It pinged to signal its arrival and I stepped in, but as I turned and took a deep breath, a perfectly manicured hand came out to stop the doors closing; they slid open and the woman in white stepped in. I held my breath when she brought the scent of Curtis in with her. I couldn’t take it. I looked away, but her voice, cold, distant and hollow – like Curtis’ when he was trapped – brought my head up and my eyes locked with her icy blue orbs without my consent.

  “Who are you?” she asked with a scowl and a look of disgust.

  “I, uh, had an interview upstairs, but I pressed the wrong button.”

  She coked a brow, “Well, that was stupid of you.”

  My skin pricked and a lump lodged itself in my throat. Curtis associated with this woman? She was nasty. I kept my eyes on her, trying to figure her out. She was flawless; she radiated intelligence, money and dominance, and she terrified me. I was no match for her; that much was clear. It was a straight knockout. Round one to the ice queen.

  “Don’t bother, honey,” she sniped, and I realised I was staring. “You’re no comparison.”

  I felt my lip tremble and blinked slowly to keep the tears away. I didn’t know this woman. She had no power to make me feel worthless, yet I gave her the right to. I should have stayed where Curtis sent me. I would have taken his rejection over her venom a hundred times, and still begged for more.

  The doors opened and Ms Tattersell gave me a disgusted once over before she stepped out and moved fluidly to the exit, heading out onto the pavement and sliding into the back of a car before it pulled away and merged with the c
ity traffic. I stumbled through the foyer, my usual awkward, no-comparison-self more deflated than I had been for years. I thought I’d picked myself back up. I thought I’d put the shattered pieces of my heart back together, just enough to let me live out the rest of my days in peace. I was wrong.

  I pushed through the exit and took a lungful of smoggy air. I wanted to go home and forget the last twenty four hours had happened. I wanted to go back to my numb state of ignorance and pretend Curtis had never found me and stolen what strength I did have away from me. He said he was trying to keep me safe, but he’d put me in danger. My biggest threat was myself, and he had stormed back into my life and ripped me open. He’d left me exposed to the self-loathing I’d been battling for years.

  I was surprised he hadn’t chased me, but relieved. I could get away, move on and try to put myself back together again. I walked away from the building and the man inside it, and headed across the road to a coffee shop. I needed a plan. I needed to compose myself and dig deep to find my fight.

  My mind was a mess. One coffee turned into two and two turned into three as my thoughts became more chaotic.

  I wasn’t weak. I’d proven to myself time and time again that I had the strength to fight whatever tried to bring me down. I didn’t need Curtis; he’d unknowingly given me enough to begin the next journey of my life. There was no room for self-pity; there was no time to wallow and think about the things I wanted but couldn’t have. There was no need to feel. I had to shut down, switch off and zone out. I had to find the truth and I wouldn’t allow the lingering, crippling pain, waiting to overwhelm, prevent me from doing what had to be done. I pulled my phone from my bag and called Beth.

  “The fugitive returns,” she answered, no doubt with a smile. The same smile as our father. The same smile as Curtis’ Uncle Phil. “Where did you disappear to? Jen called about Buster.”

  Turn off, Skye. Feel nothing.

  “She’ll have to keep him for a while. I’m not going home yet. Is Dad there?”

  “No. He left last night, just after you and Curtis. Everything okay, babe?”