Mad Love (22 page)

“You’re lucky. I grew up alone with two overbearing parents.”

“Did your parents want more children?” he asks curiously.

“My mom was a dancer and had all sorts of issues. When she carried me, it was very difficult on her body. A year after I was born, she had a cancer scare and opted to have a hysterectomy, just as a preventative measure,” I tell him quietly, “so that was it. No more kids. Just me. So they kind of obsess over every little thing.”

“Understandable.”

True. But try telling a seventeen-year-old that. Or making an eighth grader understand why she is the only one in her class who can’t go to D.C. for the graduation trip, the only kid out of a class of one hundred-fifty. The only thing that makes that memory acceptable is the fact that I met Erik during that week in school alone. He was three years older, a junior in high school, and was serving detention in our library.

He had the horrific job of inputting the library card catalog into the computers that had been donated to the school. And I had to spend eight hours a day there with him because even my teachers were away. Now we both like to say that it was destiny.

Even at that age, Erik was hot as hell and always dressed to kill. He reminded me of a blond version of A. J. McLean of the Backstreet Boyz. His hair was spiked and he had dyed the tips black. He wore black shades in the library, which I thought was cool but intimidating as well.

I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. I slowly approached the table that was furthest away from any possible human activity as I did not want to be looked at in pity by seventh graders. That table happened to be close to Erik, who was busy ignoring the world. I unzipped my bag and pulled out my history book. I tried to concentrate on the text, when all I could think was that the best history lesson would have been to actually see Washington firsthand.

“Could you die?” Erik said to me as he leaned back in his chair, completely surrounded by cards filled with Dewey Decimal numbers.

“Totally.” It was the only word I could mumble out. I didn’t know what to say. He was a cool high schooler, I was a loser eighth grader. I tried not to smile as the last thing I wanted was for him to get a good view of my metal braces.

“It’s just wrong.” He went on in that dramatic voice that would become so endearing to me later in life. He motioned around the table. I thought he was pointing at all the catalog cards. I pitied him.

“I can’t believe they’re making you input all those cards. That really sucks.” I shook my head at the horror of it all, completely sympathetic.

“This? Who gives a shit about this,” he said, waving off his detention assignment. “I’m talking about your parents not letting you go on the class trip.” I could feel my face light up in bright, red flames.

“How do you know?” I asked him.

“Everyone knows, babe. The librarians are even talking about it. They think your parents are pretty lame and they feel sorry for you. Unfortunately, they have no pull so their pity is kind of a waste.”

I was so horrified that I was the topic of conversation by even the adults in school that I wanted to cry, a ritual habit back then.

“But who gives a shit about D.C. anyway? Politicians are so stiff. Most of them have the worst style ever. I used to dig Clinton’s look but he lost me when he let Lewinsky suck him off. I mean, you’re the president, for God’s sake. Be like Kennedy, fuck someone famous, like Marilyn Monroe.”

The tears I was about to shed dried instantly. I was so in shock I couldn’t speak. But I was also in awe. He took away the sting of not being allowed to go to D.C. In that moment, he became my new hero.

I smiled broadly.

“Oh shit,” Erik blurted out, completely appalled over my braces. “That’s full-on. I didn’t even know metal was still an option. Or that anyone would ever willingly choose it. That’s fucked up.”

My hands moved up to cover my mouth.

“My parents wouldn’t let me get the clear ones. They think they’re toxic or something.” I was mortified.

“Motherfucker. You’re parents are ruthless, man. They’re, like, extreme.” Erik was clearly appalled.

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say.

I looked down at my book sadly, thinking Erik would label me a “loser” and start ignoring me.

“But I guess there’s nothing else for you to do but take it in the ass from them. They’re in the driver’s seat for now.” I’m sure my mouth was hanging open; I’d never met anyone that spoke this way … especially about parents.

I watched as he started analyzing me, completely checking me out in that way of his.

“You’ve got beautiful features. Great eyes and lips. Perfect nose, thank God; nose jobs are brutal. But I can totally see it—once you get out of this weird, hormonal stage, you’re going to be a knockout.” His words gave me hope.

Then he got up and walked over to me, extending his hand.

“Erik.”

“Sophie. Sophie Walker.”

“Great name. Are you French?”

And we’ve been friends since then. I actually still get a shiver every time I think of the Dewey Decimal System, because somehow Erik suckered me into helping him with his detention assignment. I had nightmares about numbers for a long time.

“Where were you just now?” Clayton pulls me out of my reverie.

I smile apologetically.

“I was just thinking that if my parents hadn’t been so overprotective, I never would have met Erik.”

“And so you give credence to the ancient belief that everything happens for a reason.”

“I guess so.”

Right? I mean, look at me now? In the Maldives, of all places! A location I personally picked because I saw a picture on the Internet and thought, what the hell, let’s go. And now I’ve been intimate and am sitting across from a man I would never have met in LA. There’s got to be something to it.

“Are you complaining because you received too much love and attention from your parents?” It’s his turn to question me.

“No! Not at all.”

Am I?

“It’s not like that. I just … ” I let my voice trail off for a second as I think about what I want to convey. The babying? Their need to know everything? The million calls a day? The fights over boyfriends? Education? Clothing? Everything? My parents took “nosy” to a whole new level. There were times when I felt so suffocated by them, so completely smothered that I just couldn’t wait to escape.

I don’t want to sound ungrateful because it’s not like I didn’t hear the way his friends spoke of their own parents. God, they
hated
them! From what I gathered, Clayton comes from a world where children are neglected, even thought of as a nuisance, and sent away at every chance.

Ignored.

Mine was just so
different
. Sure, we had problems, no family is perfect, but these people have serious ones that have been there for generations.

“Just what?” he asks.

“Sometimes they make me claustrophobic, that’s all.”

A light bulb goes off; I see a pattern. I run across the world to escape being controlled by my parents, right into the arms of a man who makes my dad look like a rookie when it comes to control. I’ve literally jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Thank you, Sigmund Freud.

Obviously, I’m nuts. Clinically. Insane. Put me in a straightjacket—seriously. I don’t think Noom’s got a crystal to fix this shit. I’m so screwed.

Clayton interrupts my internal plea to be committed with, “You’re an only child. They’re protective. Can you blame them?” He leans back in his chair, watching me.

“No, I can’t blame them. They just took it too far. They never let me fall, you know? And sometimes you have to fall in order to learn how to walk.”

“People tend to guard rare stones with their life.” I feel my body light up from the comparison.

“Yeah, but they practically stuck me in an armored car with full-time Secret Service surveillance.” I joke. “It’s just a lot.”

“I’d guard you too.”

You would?

So maybe this is what I’m drawn to here—the feeling of being protected. I let my mind drift and I wonder what it would be like to be under his constant protection, with him worrying about me, calling me to check in, and taking care of me because I was everything—because I was his life. I could get carried away in this fantasy. I can’t meet his intense stare, so I look away.

I’d give anything to know what he was thinking right now.

We both fall quiet as we savor the rest of our breakfast. I’m immersed in memories of my past and I’m certain Clayton’s been thinking about his childhood as well. I stand and begin clearing off the table. This is starting to feel so … comfortable.

He leans back in his chair, exposing a nice portion of his perfect, washboard abs, and silently watches as I stack the dishes. I try not to be self-conscious. Act cool, Sophie.

“You’re very poised for someone your age.”

No sooner does the comment roll off his lips then I drop a fork on the deck, my neck and face flushing red as it clangs and bangs for what seems like an impossible amount of time. We both immediately burst out laughing, the tension of the moment melting away with our giggles. Once I regain my composure, I turn to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair,” I say politely, then completely straight-faced, “I take that as a compliment, given your old age and wisdom.”

“Old age?” he warns as he slowly rises. He removes his sunglasses and pins me with his heated gaze.

I hold my ground and smile sweetly, then set the dishes on the table.

“If the shoe—” but before I can get the last word out, he lunges around the table at me.

I shriek with laughter and a tad bit of fear. I’ve never enjoyed being chased, and I turn to make a mad dash back into the house. I’ve gone about three feet before I’m hauled back into his arms and lifted off the ground. I’m gasping from laughter when his lips capture mine in the most earth-shattering kiss. In an instant, I’m completely lost in my lust. His hands pull my body into his so he can grind against me, and I sigh my pleasure into his mouth.

My fingers once again become tangled in his thick hair as I pull his face closer to mine, just wanting more of his kiss, his tongue. I can’t get close enough to him. He moves his mouth away from mine and I groan in response. His tongue and lips trace a sweet trail down my neck as his hands squeeze my ass tighter, and instantly I can feel his erection pressing against
me. His skillful fingers reach under my dress to untie the strings on my bikini.

He carries me to a large lounge chair and lowers me gently. In a second he’s removed my dress and bikini top and I’m naked, my breasts pressed tightly against his heaving chest as he lays on top of me. I’m now throbbing with desire.

His hands move down my stomach and his fingers slip into me.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he whispers against my mouth as I take his fingers deeper inside.

“I want to fuck you, Sophie.”

Yes, please
, my mind tells him, as I move my hands down his chest and slowly touch his cock. His body goes completely still as I feel him for the first time.

“Touch me, baby.”

I want to. I want to please him and drive him as crazy as he drives me. I grab hold of his shaft, feeling him, wrapping my hand around it. I squeeze him tight, knowing that he likes this from his groan of approval. I become bolder and move my hand up and down the length of him. His body trembles in desire, and it turns me on even more to know that he wants my touch.

“Look at me, Clayton.” I throw his own words back at him and watch as he opens his bright eyes.

“I want to taste you.”

I don’t wait for his approval. I push him on his back on the lounge chair and hover above him, shockingly comfortable in my own nakedness. His eyes move over the length of my body.

“God, you’re so incredible, Sophie.”

He makes me feel like I am. I’m no longer the shy Sophie I’ve been for twenty-three years, but instead a bold version of myself, intent on driving him mad. I slowly lower my body on top of his, carefully brushing the tips of my breasts against his skin and a sweet surge of ecstasy moves through my body. His hands move up to my hair and hold my head as I slowly kiss and lick my way down the length of his body.

“Sophie.” He whispers my name in a tortured whisper, his need driving me on.

I look up at him and my eyes meet his heavy-lidded gaze. I taste the tip of him and watch in satisfaction as he closes his eyes and moves his head up, the veins in his neck pulsing from the way he’s clenching his jaw. I put my mouth over his tip and slowly lower it down, sucking as I do. I feel him grab hold of my hair tighter and I know that I’m doing just the right thing. I take him deeper in my mouth, sucking harder, and move up and down, the same way he moves inside of me.

“Christ, Sophie!”

I like the way he tastes and feels, and I especially love the power I have over him. My mouth takes more of him in, all while I suck and lick, giving him a taste of the sweet torture he has bestowed upon me. His hips move up to my mouth, wanting me to take more of him. I oblige, hell-bent on driving him over the edge. I forget time and space, completely turned on by his response and his need for me.

He grabs hold of my naked waist, and pulls me up on top of him. His mouth finds mine, and I kiss him savagely with my fevered need. He hauls my waist down and quickly plunges deep, deep inside me.

“Oh, my God,” I say in pleasure as he pushes even further.

He’s a beast in this moment, lost, completely lost in a vortex of desire. His hand twists around my hair, his tongue moves deep in my throat, and I welcome the sweet assault.

“You’ve bewitched me,” is his raw answer as he pulls his mouth away from mine and turns me on my back, so he can fuck me harder, deeper than before.

His hands grab my bottom and lifts me so I can take more of him in. His fiery mouth moves to my ear, licking, teasing, making me wild.

“Does this feel old, baby?” His voice is wild as he pulls out and thrusts so deep inside again that I think I am going to die from the pleasure of it all. He moves again, harder, faster, and I pull him closer to me, wanting every piece of him around me, in me, devouring me.