"What do we want to watch?" Jade asked loudly from the living room.
Tiffany and Spot turned the corner and saw Jade and Kiki on the couch, the remote in Jade's hand as she scrolled through movies on the TV above the fireplace. Kiki was next to her with a fresh bowl of popcorn, both sitting with their legs up under them and their black cat onesie hoods over their heads.
Spot leaned over the back of the couch, his face close to Jade's. "The scarier the better," he whispered next to her ear, making her grin wickedly.
"Oh yeah?" she replied, accepting the challenge.
Tiffany stopped behind Jade on the couch as Spot went ahead to the kitchen where the guys were. She heard Honey laughing in the kitchen, the smell of popcorn permeating through the house.
Jade tilted her head back, her green eyes glinting as she searched Tiffany's face upside down. Kiki was watching her carefully too.
"You ok?" Jade asked in a low whisper.
Tiffany gave a tired smile, feeling weighed down from the inside. "Yeah. Talk later."
"Fucking assholes," Jade muttered.
"I know," Tiffany agreed with a sigh. "'s ok."
Jade shook her head, looking back to the TV, and Tiffany spoke louder, "What about The Conjuring?"
"Ugh, I hate that movie!" Honey shouted from the kitchen.
"Conjuring it is," Jade said with a laugh.
Tiffany laughed with Jade and Kiki as she left to go into the kitchen where the guys were talking and teasing loudly, their deep voices resonating through the house. She liked the new sounds. She could hear Jack's, warm and lower than the others'.
The main kitchen light was cut off, the candles still flickering in all corners of the house, everything cast in shadows. She walked slowly, her bare feet soundless as she moved. She loved moving among darkness - something that made working at the club easier to tolerate. She felt covered, protected. Even with guys they liked, it helped with pacing what was revealed.
It felt so odd, having guys in the house. Guys that were exciting. Guys who weren't seeking what they could own and control...
She turned the corner and saw Honey taking a bag of popcorn out of the microwave, Mush behind her whispering creepily into her ear, making her laugh and shrink away from him. Spot, Race and Jack were at the island pouring glasses of whiskey and eating candy out of a bowl.
"There hasn't been one trick or treater tonight," Race said in realization as Spot popped MnMs in his mouth.
"You didn't see the giant empty bowl down at the sidewalk?" Honey said with a laugh. "That candy went hours ago. This is our personal supply."
"You're about to be depleted," Jack said, the guys laughing.
Tiffany watched him as he leaned on the island next to Spot, his handsome face relaxed as he laughed with his friends. In his dark clothing, he fit well in the flickering darkness, his figure a sharp contrast against everything else.
His warm dark eyes darted to her when she came closer around the island, and she was pleased at the spark that appeared there, an alertness. He stood straight as she came to his side and his body turned to her naturally as he leaned on the island, as if their bodies had always been like magnetic puzzle pieces.
She looked up slowly through her lashes, seeing the effect on his face, his strong chest expanding as he took a slow deep breath. He was like an energy current, so strong that she wondered if she'd feel it through her fingers tips if she touched him.
Breathe, she told herself irritably, turning her face from him, trying to stop the wave of warmth that was washing over her body.
The others talked and moved into the living room with their drinks and popcorn, purposefully forgetting her and Jack. Jade started the movie.
She knew he was waiting for her to say something... she wasn't sure what he expected. Did he wait for an answer about the phone call, or did he want to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there?
She was used to ignoring them.
Her fingers found a strand of her hair and twirled it as she kept her eyes down, thinking.
Since when did I care so much, she thought resentfully. Since when did I let a man make such a mess of me?
She knew all the tricks. She had an arsonal to choose from...the right words to pur, the fluttering of eyelashes, the soft touch to relax him. And with the advantage of alcohol…
She'd been drinking more than usual - to fight the butterflies she felt around him and the constant grief that followed her thoughts - but she knew how to play nice with old rich drunk men, the young ones too. She knew how to mask her intentions with inebriated flirtations.
They were the same moves she used all the time at work, so naturally she didn't have to think about it, natural enough to deceive. The learning and playing she had to do to climb her way past the small fries to the big dogs at the top...The right strings to pull to weave her way in.
But this…
This was unexpected.
She didn't know him but he took her breath away every time she looked at him. The smooth planes of his face, his steely unwavering gaze, his tall dark figure, his presence. He exuded a strength that he kept in check, a strength she wanted to see, to feel.
She saw how other women, even her friends, looked at him. He drew attention without saying a word.
He unnerved her. And she wasn't sure whether to hate the feeling or to love it, the thrills she felt.
The moves she knew, the tricks she pulled with those other men - she didn't have to use them on him. She didn't want to. She wanted him raw, rough, real. A desire she'd never felt before, for anyone.
He wasn't a part of the plan. None of this was. It created a fear that hadn't been there before.
But she felt a different fear, too, one that was much bigger:
How can a man I've never met before first appear in my dreams?
She and Honey had talked about it for hours after she'd first seen him, at the club while she was on stage. She'd never felt so unnerved, so undone. She had felt shaken to her bones, completely exposed. Seeing his face in waking hours - she thought she was crazy.
Perhaps he's from a past life, Honey had said. You two didn't look at each other like strangers do.
She looked up to him, realizing he'd been waiting this entire time while her thoughts tripped over each other.
But he was looking away too, his eyes lost in his own thoughts, his brow pulled together. He was beautiful in his angular masculinity, his profile and stoic posture almost like statues from the Renaissance era...
I really am losing it, she thought irritably.
"What are you thinking?" she asked earnestly.
She genuinely wanted to know, seeing the sadness touching his face… It was tangible until he looked up at the sound of her voice, his eyes coming back to her as he stood straighter.
"I could ask the same thing," he murmured with a grin, his voice thick and warm as he gently took the strand of hair from her fidgeting fingers, his touch leaving firey trails on her skin. The grin did not touch his eyes.
His voice dropped lower, "Though I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't nervous of what you'd say."
She read his eyes for a long moment, feeling an urgency to answer him, to close the gap between them, to ease him.
He's not fragile, Spot had said.
"I don't want to lie to you," she whispered honestly. She wanted to look away, to hide the truth from showing in her eyes, but the desire to look at him was stronger.
"You don't have to," he said carefully; the words were hard for him to say. "I know there's...things you can't tell me. And -" he inhaled sharply, his eyes darting away. "An' you know by now that I know K - Cage."
Her brow furrowed as she read him, seeing the pain sharper in his eyes. The same that had been in Spot's. An old pain, one they'd been carrying for a while but still fresh in their eyes.
"I'm not askin' ya for anythin' ya don't wanna give, 'cause...well, we don't know each other."
A different sadness appeared in his gaze as he looked down at her, a longing.
Why is he so sad? It broke her heart.
"But I want to change that," he said as he came back from wherever his mind had wandered, his eyes reading hers.
She got the feeling he didn't like to talk about his feelings; it made him uncomfortable. His mannerisms had her stumped: his movements were so sure and his body so strong yet he was almost like a young boy; his words were weighed and yet he was unafraid; he was playful yet pensive. There was a youthful mischievous spark in his eyes and yet he seemed jaded, like a man who's seen behind the curtain. A man who had been hurt.
What was he thinking? What was he remembering? Every day the curiosity and mystery surrounding him grew, and drew her in, wanting to be closer.
Doubtful thoughts lurked in the back of her mind, in the voice of her mother, telling her to be careful, not to trust anyone. Least of all men.
But she felt elated at his words, she couldn't help it - they were the words she wanted to hear him say. Someone to want her for who she was instead of who her parents were...it still amazed her that she was able to fool almost all of New York...
Her mother's words echoed from her memory, dark and warning -
No.
She closed her eyes.
This is different.
She felt a touch as soft as a butterfly's wing on her cheek, it swept down to her lips and stopped there.
Her heartbeat skipped and she felt the warm wave again as she opened her eyes, seeing him watching her. His fingers dropped away from her, like a kid touching something he knew he shouldn't.
She closed the gap between them, lifting up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his. He froze for only a moment before he tilted his head to the side and leaned towards her, deepening the kiss.
She lit up like a beach on the Fourth of July, lights twinkling and reflecting everywhere, chasing the darkness of her life away.
She expected to feel his hands - wanted to feel them on her. She moved closer, her hands moving to his sides. She hoped to encourage him, and she felt him inhale sharply, deeply, his right hand clenching the marble counter at his side. His lips were eager against hers but he held himself back.
She wondered if it showed; the aching desire she'd felt for him all week. She hadn't cared before when he waited for her outside the club, or at the bar. Hadn't thought twice about kissing him. She felt careless now after the fact, the watching eyes she knew had been there, outside work, in the bar…
Playing footsie under the table now, T? Cage had said on the phone, his voice even and deadly. You know the boss won't like that very much...
"I stayed like we agreed, and who picks me up is none of your concern," she had fired back, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was alone in the dining room. "Neither you or your master own me."
You sure 'bout that?
She pushed the memory away. There weren't any eyes here now, no one to see what they did, the warm candle light and darkness enclosing them both.
She lowered herself slowly to her heels and he parted from her, both of them breathing heavily. She saw a guard up behind his expression, well used and impenetrable, mirroring the same fear she felt.
"I don't want you to worry," she said as she read him. She wanted him - and herself - to stop fucking thinking and just be.
"'s like askin' this city to go to sleep," he said huskily, restraint straining under his voice, his eyes bright.
Why won't he touch me?
Her hands, resting at his hips, moved slowly up his chest. He breathed slowly, tense like an animal ready to bolt. She raked her nails lightly over his pectorals and he exhaled as if he enjoyed the feeling but fought the urge to react. She glanced up and saw the raw desire in his eyes. He was conflicted.
"Don't you want me, Jack?" she asked, her voice pitching innocently, disappointed.
Fierce surprise flitted across his face, washing away the fear, the worry, and the sadness from his eyes.
He moved so quickly she gasped - in one swift movement his hands gripped her waist, lifted her onto the marble countertop, gripped her behind the knees, and pulled her towards him until her body met his, her pelvis pressing deliciously against his flat abdomen. Their eyes level.
She gasped again, almost moaning as she felt him against her, and he took her lips roughly as she took his face in her hands. His right hand snaked up her back while the left moved up under her right thigh. She tightened her thighs around his torso in response as she surrendered to his hungry lips, and she heard him emit a deep groan, the sound vibrating in his chest against her breasts.
She felt as if a wild fire had begun inside her. Her fingers gripped his neck and face as her lips moved sweetly against his, her entire body aching for him.
He held her tightly to him as they lost themselves to their lips but she couldn't get close enough. He was like the ocean washing over her, an energy she couldn't hold.
She felt something stirring deep inside her, something that told her this was right.
Her hands slid down his shoulders to his arms, his muscles strong and taught as her nails dug into him.
He parted from her, both panting, but his face stayed close to hers, their eyes burning into each other. His skin was warm, like the sand on a sunny bright day, and she saw the same wildfire in him, threatening to consume her. She wished it would.
"You really don't know what you do to me," he growled, his New Yorker voice harsh, almost amazed. "Do ya?"
There was frustration in his voice. And it only stoked the flames within her.
"I want to do so much more," she breathed as she leaned towards him again.
But Jack pulled away, his face like stone and his jaw clenched tightly as he restrained himself. She felt cold when he removed his hands from her, resting them on either side of her. But his eyes devoured her as they washed over her body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
She released him from her thighs...opening them slowly to him as he looked at her.
He looked at her as if she were holding a whip, resentful that she prolonged his pain.
The fierceness in his eyes, the desire. It was enough for her to give herself to him right here on the counter.
She didn't care about her first time being amazing - she just wanted it to be with him, and every time after that.
She blushed, felt the hot blooms over her cheek as she looked at him. She had felt weaker desire before, had pleasured herself, but never really wanted after a relationship with anyone. She had too much to focus on. And she wasn't interested in one night stands, or sticking to the shallows. She was all deep or nothing.
And with him…
The warm wave again, washing over her and leaving her clammy, almost dizzy. He was a stormy sea she wanted to get lost in.
"Don't tell me you want to take things slow," she said darkly, almost threateningly. "Because I'll call bullshit."
He gave a dark laugh, pushing his fingers through his hair. His face was flushed too, both of them trying to slow themselves down.
The worry and fear were still there, lingering in his eyes. But she had an idea of how to keep him to herself for a bit longer…
She slid off the island and turned to pour herself a whiskey. She took his drink with hers and walked away from him towards the living room.
He followed her silently around the back of the couches, everyone staring at the TV. If they had heard them at all while they'd been in the kitchen, they hid it well. They didn't even notice them entering the room now; everyone but Honey was watching the TV with wide eyes.
Honey had her face tucked behind Mush, who was popping popcorn into his mouth, wrapped up in the film. Racetrack and Kiki were sitting on pillows on the floor, Kiki tucked under Race's arm as they watched intently. Spot was laid out along one side of the couch with his head on Jade's lap.
The movie was twenty minutes in, just when things were getting good and creepy. Tiffany laughed to herself at how engrossed they all were, their limbs intertwined lazily, touching each other softly in between scary moments. Mush's thumb grazed Honey's shoulder.
Tiffany looked over her shoulder, felt a thrill when she saw Jack's eyes were still on her, and kept walking past their friends on the couches.
She led him across the foyer to the study where she'd found Spot, and turned at the fireplace, setting her drink on the mantle.
Pain.
She closed her eyes suddenly, tightly, and turned her face away - searing white hot pain cut through the middle of her head. She cursed to herself; the beginnings of a migraine. And she hadn't been taking her meds…
Maybe it would pass. She looked up and saw Jack taking in the room, seeing the wall of books. The fire crackled warmly, casting warm tones over him, lighting his dark eyes.
"Yours?" he asked as his gaze swept over the books.
"My father's."
He gave her a side look and she laughed softly, the pain receding to a dull ping.
"They won't bite you," she teased as she took a sip of her drink.
"Hope not," he teased back as he joined her at the mantle, the fire warming them both.
The movie swelled in the living room, its music drifting to them, and they heard a few voices exclaiming, Racetrack cursing. They laughed and Jack took a drink of his whiskey.
"Something tells me if you hadn't already seen it, we'd be in there watching it," he said over his glass, his eyes holding hers.
She laughed at how right he was. "I love horror movies."
"I never heard a girl say that," he smirked, something she'd found herself loving - the way his eyes glinted mischievously as he did, like he was laughing at a secret. His accent soft and comforting.
"Not all girls scare easily," she challenged as she took a sip.
"Certainly not you," he murmured, looking at her face. He seemed slightly annoyed by the fact.
"But I don't laugh in the face of danger," she added as she stared into the fire, her voice more serious than she meant it to be.
"No," he agreed after a moment. "You dance with it."
She turned her face fully to him, her eyes leveling him defensively, her temper flaring at his words. But he didn't back down; he saw he was right in her reaction and she hated it. But he didn't hold it over her, didn't use it against her. She inhaled slowly as she looked at him, hating herself more for how much her eyes loved to rest on him.
But his eyes were sad again, as if he was looking at someone else.
Her brow furrowed and she slowly reached up to brush strands of his hair back, her nails raking over his scalp. He closed his eyes, his hands firmly in his pockets. Her hand roamed over his face, her fingers trailed down his cheek, over his lips, down his neck. He looked tired, like a man who had been treading water in the middle of a sea for a long time...
"Who hurt you so badly?" she asked softly, her voice breaking.
His eyes opened slowly and they were cold, sparkless, and far away.
She waited, she would've waited all night. She wanted to take the pieces of him and put them back together, to see his smile touch his eyes every time he laughed, to be careless with her.
It felt as if something big was hanging over them, something ominous and inescapable that was weighing down on them both but she couldn't see what it was…
She couldn't understand why he was wrapped in what felt like destiny.
"She didn't hurt me," he murmured after a long moment, agony hiding under the low rumble of his voice. She saw emotions shifting around behind his expression but couldn't place them. It looked like he wanted to look away, like he was looking at a ghost. Was he trembling or was it the flickering tricks of the fire?
His body shifted stiffly, uncomfortable under her eyes even though she was much shorter than he.
"I lost her."
She breathed slowly for a long moment, seeing how hard he tried to hide the heartache inside him. He meant death, it was there all over his body - whatever memories he had...
"She was doin' somethin' similar," he said slowly. "An' I don't think I have to tell ya that there are some pretty sick bastards out there."
A dark ripple ran through her, her focus moving away from the pain she felt inside.
"I have an idea," she said darkly. I think about it all the time.
"I don't want the same to happen to you," he said carefully, evenly.
Her stomach dropped, on top of everything else. When she had first heard about sex trafficking, that had been the look on her face -
His memory, visible in his eyes, was dark. The fear she'd seen in his eyes when Cage called her earlier...
"Jack…"
She reached for his face but he turned from her, going to the couch behind him. He set his drink on the rug and ran a hand through his hair, leaning forward on his elbows, looking away out the windows. He looked agitated and strung out.
Pain seared through her forehead again and she tried to fight through it, closing her eyes for a moment, steadying herself against the mantle.
"Sorry," he said huskily from far away. "I don't like talkin' 'bout things I'd rather forget."
Her head was throbbing, growing slowly like mountain ranges, carving themselves through her skull. There'd been moments at work when a migraine came out of nowhere, and she had to grin and bear it. She wished she could now; she wanted so badly to distract him and herself from the baggage they carried, to lose themselves to limbs and lips.
Why did this have to happen now when she finally had him all to herself? She was thankful the room was only lit by a fire.
"I'm sorry to remind you of it," she said, her throat betraying the sadness she felt.
She saw his head turn to her in her peripheral and she turned too, meeting his gaze. He had the look again - like he was looking at a ghost. She felt chill bumps rise on her arms, her left still holding her steady on the mantle.
Her whole body pitched against another stab of pain, more excruciating than the last.
Before she knew it, he was in front of her, his hands holding her by the arms.
Pain. Searing pain.
"'s matter?" his voice was even but she heard the slight panic. "Can ya talk?"
She shut her eyes tighter, unable to think through the white hot pain she felt splitting through her head. She brought her hands to either side of her head, gasping softly as she breathed out, her eyes shut tight. Why? Why now?
Roiling nausea...clammy all over. Please don't puke, please don't puke… she wished she hadn't drank that last glass.
"'s just...a migraine…" she said weakly once it receded a little.
"What can I do?"
He sounded ready to do anything. She wobbled a little on the spot but his hands held her steady. Through the splitting sickening pain, it touched her.
"My bathroom," she gasped. "Upstairs, last on the...right."
She waited to step away from the fireplace but she felt an arm under her knees, another behind her back, his strong arms lifting her easily. He didn't say a word as he carried her quickly through the foyer, up the stairs. She kept her eyes closed despite the darkness of the house.
The movie was still playing and it faded away as Jack went down the second floor hall, lowering her a little to open the last door on the right.
He didn't flip on the overhead light, for which she was grateful. There was enough light from the nightlight next to the marble vanity, and streetlights streamed dimly through the window over the claw-foot tub.
He set her down on the tiled floor across from the vanity. She kept her eyes closed, leaning against the wall and feeling the familiar rug under her fingers, breathing slowly and evenly through her mouth.
"What do you need?"
His voice was low and close.
She laughed weakly, "for my migraines...to stop interrupting us…"
She felt a new fresh wave of nausea. She waited, feeling the chill of clamminess pass over her, and lifted her hand to point in the vague direction of the vanity.
"Behind the mirror... two orange pill bottles…"
She felt him leave her side, heard him open the mirror, rummage, heard pills in bottles. She heard the faucet run and turn off. He had grabbed the water glass next to the sink. A shadow moved in front of her; he was kneeling over her legs.
"How many?" he asked.
"One from the one that starts with an M and... two from the one that...starts with a P."
He shook the bottles. She felt him take her hand and place the pills in them.
"Water is next to your right hand."
She popped them into her mouth, drank the glass dry. He refilled it, and she drank it all down. Her eyes still rested shut. She felt cold sweat over her forehead. She heard the faucet run again, and jumped the next moment when he touched a wet towel to her head. She took it and ran it over her face.
She didn't know how long she sat on the floor, wincing and writhing in pain in intervals that became more spaced out, the dull thudding receding painfully slowly. She must've fallen asleep on her side, the cool tiles of the floor on her cheek.
After a long time, she opened her eyes slowly.
He was sitting next to her, leaning against the tub with an arm resting on a bent knee. His eyes watching her intently.
"Better?" he whispered.
She smiled weakly, "'s the second time you've saved me."
He laughed quietly, a sarcastic tone in his voice. "Would help to know what I'm savin' ya from."
"Really bad migraines," she said carefully as she sat up, afraid the word would bring it back. "And very low blood sugar."
"'s a doozy," he said with understanding. "Ya didn't eat enough, right?"
She smiled in spite of herself, laughing that he knew. "Right."
He sat up, reached for something on the vanity. He handed her a plate with a PB & J sandwich on it. She tried to hide her surprised and impressed reaction but her smiling lips betrayed her. She never thought she could be so touched by a PB & J.
"I helped myself to your kitchen while you were passed out," he said with a grin. "I know 's not grand but I wasn't expecting the ginormous fridge to be almost empty," he mocked as he knelt in front of her. "Ya did manage to still have the makings of a classic and my personal favorite."
She laughed weakly against the wall, loving his new yorker accent, something she never thought she'd like, ever. "I love PB & Js."
He placed it in her lap, the touch of his fingers on her thighs almost bringing her driving desire back. She ate slowly, leaving her eyes closed. It amazed her how quiet he was as sat against the tub, his head tilted back, the bands of his strong neck taught in the dim light.
"What are the others doing?" she asked when she finished. He filled the water glass again.
"Passed out," he said as he handed the glass to her. She could hear the mischievous grin in his voice. "Another movie is playing but none of them knew I was in the kitchen."
She laughed and sighed, feeling so tired.
He took the dishes and put them on the vanity. "Can ya stand?"
She tried, wooziness washed over her immediately, and he didn't hesitate to sweep her up gently again. She let her head loll to the side, resting on his chest.
"Which one's your room?" he asked huskily.
"I'll only tell you…," she smiled a little, her eyes closed and the dark scent of his cologne in her nose. "...if you promise... not to leave."
His fingers flexed against her body. "Wasn't plannin' to."
She held out her hand, squinting as she pointed to the right, past the windows on either side of the hall to the door at the end.
He left the bedroom door open as he stepped inside, pausing when he saw the stairs. But he climbed them easily with her in his arms.
