Inferno: Part 1 Page 5

  “You can sleep on the couch, but that’s it,” she winces and then turns around.

  She shuts the door to her bedroom and I sit trying to think, but my brain can’t process anything right now, so I lay down. The couch isn’t velvet, but it’s comfy. Very squishy.

  And so I fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Mila

  It’s been almost a month since Bryce banged on my door, drunk and smelling like another woman’s perfume. He passed out on my couch and in the morning, once he was sober, I gave him a choice: either give me some space, or I leave Inferno.

  Part of me expected him to argue or fight back, but he listened quietly, nodding every so often, and when I was done he put on his shoes and left. I haven’t seen him since.

  A small piece of me was shocked that he left right then and there. I’m only just now able to admit to myself that maybe I wanted him to fight for me. But that only happens in books.

  My shifts at the Inferno are much less notable. Shayne is still friendly, Alexa is cordial but distant, and everything at work seems…dull.

  Dull can be peaceful. Uneventful. But it can mean boredom and that breeds bad decisions. However, my schoolwork is improving, and now not only do I have the worries over rent off my shoulders, but my GPA is safely above the requirement.

  I still have to save up money for next semester, since my scholarship doesn’t cover housing and books and food, but maybe I’ll be able to pay Bryce back eventually. I try not to think about it, just focusing on work, school, and Dad.

  He’s doing better, but is still in the hospital. That will be more money we don’t have, so although I think of him often, it always makes me focus harder on work.

  I’m rubbing down the bar when I see what looks like Bryce, surrounded by—of course—gorgeous women.

  “Shayne, look—Bryce is back,” I say softly.

  Leaning over the bar, Shayne squints, then shakes his head. “No, but they look damn similar. That’s his brother, Phillip.”

  I don’t want to admit that my hopes are crushed, and my sudden excitement quickly disappears.

  The night drags on, filling beers and serving fruity mixed drinks. We’re busy, even without Bryce, and before the last person leaves it’s already twenty minutes after my shift ends. I still need to finish my list before I leave for the night.

  I pull off my apron, count my tips, tuck the bills neatly in my purse and grab a notepad and pen. As I make my way to one of the tables something pulls my attention to the front entrance.

  It’s a familiar feeling, one that I could never forget.

  He must not have expected I’d still be here, because Bryce is standing right before me. He looks surprised when he sees my face, but I can’t hide how happy I am to see him. I smile and he walks over, without any hesitation in his steps.

  “You’ve been gone so long,” I say quietly, not accusing, just letting him know I missed him.

  “You can’t imagine how hard it’s been.” He lets the back of his hand trail down my cheek.

  “I beg to differ,” I say looking him directly in the eyes.

  “Should we catch up? We can have a drink at my place.” His hand slips underneath my chin and he holds it so I’m looking up at him.

  The angel on one shoulder repeats platitudes about not mixing business and pleasure, while the devil on my other shoulder prods me forward with his pitchfork.

  I’m stuck in between.

  This isn’t about pleasure—something deeper pulls me to Bryce. He’s more than a rich playboy. And I’m falling for the man behind the celebrity.

  My tiny rebuff is that I need to study, which I do, but Bryce insists that I’ve earned a break. And so I follow him out into the night air, in the opposite direction of my home and my books.

  ***

  There’s electricity in the air, and it sparks every time our hands touch or our eyes meet. There’s a comfortable silence lingering between us, one that implies that there’s nothing left to say about the events of that one night. In our absence from one another each of us resolved our own emotions.

  When he takes off my coat his hands trail down my arms and my stomach does somersaults. Slowly he unbuttons my shirt, always going back to my eyes to make sure it’s okay. Delicately, he slides the shirt off my shoulders until the last remnants of it sweep past my fingertips.

  Reverently, he unzips my skirt and slides it to the floor. I stand before him in plain black underwear and bra. He looks like a man lost in the desert who has just discovered an oasis.

  His eyes drink me in, and beneath his fitted jeans I see a bulge grow. As if in a trance I stand there, frozen, while he begins to kiss my body. My shoulders, my elbows, my palms—all are anointed. Then my collarbone, the hollow between my breasts, my stomach. He kneels, kissing up one leg, stopping just before my knees give out, then starts on the other leg.

  Taking pity on me, he carries me to his bedroom. He gently places me on his bed. It’s surprisingly warm, with a soft white quilt and dove-grey walls. He lights a row of candles, then begins to take off his clothes.

  I have seen Bryce in the ring, I know what his body looks like. Every muscle is chiseled—not to the point of looking bulky, but just strong. Something is different here. All the muscles are relaxed. His skin has a beautiful tan luster in the candlelight, instead of the sheen of sweat he gets in the ring. Around his eyes, there are no frown lines, his face is peaceful, and I see the real Bryce Cole.

  When he takes off his pants and boxers, my mouth goes dry and I feel a tightening between my legs. There’s a beautiful symmetry to his body, a narrowness through his hips. And his manhood is thick and strong. Long enough to test my limits. Perfect, I realize. He looks perfect.

  It seems like such a long time since I’ve been with someone, and just the sight of Bryce makes me ready. He slides next to me on the bed. One hand cradles my neck while his lips gently part mine. I suck in every breath he exhales and get lost in the rhythm of our tongues dancing together.

  His hand glides down my body, over my breast, across my hip, and then sweeps over to the spot I’ve been aching for him to touch.

  His fingers swirl across me and my breathing hitches. Just when I feel like I might explode from the intensity of everything, he slides two fingers into me and feels how slick I am.

  “You are so beautiful, Mila. I want you all to myself,” he says in a deep, breathy voice before moving over me.

  I’m all sensation as he cages me, his arms and legs surrounding me. He nips at my neck and I stroke his back, marveling over his perfectly smooth skin. When he moves to suck on my breast, his thick manhood drags along my leg, and it’s all I can do not to scream as my nerves go into sensory overload. He sees my struggle, and gently trails just the tip along my leg, from knee to waist, inching closer to my middle with every lap.

  My body convulses in pleasure, and he finally takes pity on me. Our eyes meet as he slides into me. I am the lock and he is my key—nothing could fit better.

  He stretches me just to the brink, rocking deep inside with long, sensual strokes. Just when I think I’m at my limit he begins a more forceful rhythm as he traces rapid circles on my clitoris.

  I’ve never been filled like this before, taken over from the inside and out, and my heartbeat speeds up, my breaths become ragged, and my hands knot themselves in the sheets as we come together, him nested deep inside, me clutching around him as the waves of my orgasm shake me to the core.

  I can’t fathom what I just experienced at first. My back is slightly sweaty, the sheets feel hot, but I cannot move. Bryce collapses next to me, resting his head on my chest, and slowly my heartbeat returns to normal. The stars fade from my vision, and I come back down to Earth finding this God is real, and still lying with me.

  Pleasure can be exhausting, and he barely draws the silky sheets over us before I am dead to the world.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bryce

  It’s strange having someone in my be
d when I wake up, but a good strange. Mila looks so peaceful that I don’t wake her. Instead, I make my way to the living room and check my phone. A text from Phillip last night says that he will be at my mother’s today, so I shower quickly to head over there.

  Before I leave, I jot a quick note for Mila, leaving it on the night table.

  Mila,

  I couldn’t wake you—you looked so peaceful. Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen or call in and order up—just charge it to my name.

  Last night was the best of my life. I can’t wait to see you again. I have to go to my mother’s but will be back later. If I don’t see you, I’ve added my number to your phone. Let’s get dinner.

  Smitten,

  Bryce

  As we reach the family home, I see Alexa’s car pull away. Her trademark bright blue Mini Cooper is hard to miss, especially with the Inferno decal on the back windshield. I don’t waste time wondering why she was here, because before I am fully out of the car, Julio notices me, and drops his pruning shears to run over.

  “Mr. Bryce, I have to thank you again. I didn’t know you were coming today—my wife sent things back for you from Ecuador. She still—” he pauses, trying not to cry. “She still can’t believe you paid for me to go back and visit. You’re such a good man, too good. My children, they are so big! The youngest took a while to warm up to me, she doesn’t remember, you know.”

  “Anytime, Julio. And remember, when you’re ready for them to come over let me know,” I say.

  “I can’t ask you for more, Mr. Bryce! And my wife’s mother, she is still sick and cannot travel. Plus she won’t come to America—she wants to be buried in Ecuador.”

  He moves to shake my hand, then realizes his own is covered with dirt and mulch, but I reach out anyway. His eyes are filled with tears, and I excuse myself before I get too emotional.

  As I walk toward the house, I assess it from an outside perspective. I guess other people would call it a mansion. Rows of windows gleam in the early morning sunlight. The front of the house is grand, red brick almost 200 years old, with columns that stretch two stories up, supporting a small terrace off the master suite.

  Although I was just here, there are more additions inside. In the three story foyer, a new chandelier drips with crystal. My mother’s voice echoes from the sitting room.

  “I just couldn’t stand that old wrought-iron death trap he insisted on having,” she complains. “It looked like a medieval torture device.”

  The marble floors are spotless, and the table in the center of the foyer is resplendent with tall, white lilies. They are beautiful flowers, but somehow stiff and clinical. Each one is almost identical, and the petals are waxy, not delicate.

  My mother never ceases to point out the new baroque furniture in the living room—a reproduction, of course, since anything with fabric should never be bought used—and another voice that sounds familiar agrees. I recognize it after a moment—her company must be Mrs. Peters. They continue talking for a moment, and I pause in the foyer.

  “You will not believe the latest girl Bryce is chasing,” my mother sighs, as though it were a personal affront.

  “Tell me,” Mrs. Peters chimes in, I’m sure itching for a piece of gossip.

  “Well, she has no money—Bryce bought her the apartment she lives in. And she’s from some hick town south of the Mason-Dixon line. Gold-digger, I can assure you. Why can’t he just go back to Kayla.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” Mrs. Peters says.

  They both laugh, in the way that genteel women do—fake, without a hint of happiness to be found.

  I’m completely caught off guard that my mother knows about Mila’s apartment, but I want to see Phillip, so I make a commotion in the foyer to announce myself, then enter the sitting room.

  Mrs. Peters, Kayla’s mother, smiles from her seat on one of the new sofas, and I lean down to kiss her cheek. Although she’s well into her fifties, her skin is tight and unnaturally stiff, but I am used to the medically-altered states of the upper class.

  “Bryce, it’s been too long. How lovely to see you. Unfortunately, I must be going. Lots to do before the party tonight!”

  She and my mother exchange a knowing smile, and the clatter of her heels on the marble, followed by the sound of the door shutting are my mother’s cue to voice my current shortcomings.

  “Bryce, what are you wearing? Mesh shorts and a t-shirt? There are plenty of suitable clothes in your bedroom, go upstairs and change.”

  “Not now, mother. Where’s Phillip?”

  “Your brother is practicing his long game out back. Wearing quite nice trousers and a polo. You should find something similar.”

  I don’t bother replying, but quickly kiss her cheek and head out back.

  Phillip is dressed well enough for the PGA tournament, and looks the part of an upper-class son as he winds back, toes pointed, then follows through to send the ball sailing. I wait until his club is back in a resting position before I call out.

  “Hey, Phil!”

  He turns around with a smile, and I can see that as we both grow older, we look more alike than ever. We’re almost the same height, both muscular, and have the same hair.

  “How’s Dartmouth,” I ask, trying to understand why he’s back.

  “Not so great,” he finally admits. “You always were the golden boy. Who knew people would actually expect things of me?”

  “So are you taking time off or officially done?”

  “I don’t know,” Phillip answers, carelessly. “I just missed some big tests and didn’t feel like explaining to my teachers that I spend more in a month than they earn in a year. So I came home.”

  “You just left—no explanation, not even withdrawing from your classes?” I ask, shaking my head in disapproval.

  “Pretty much.” He shrugs a single shoulder.

  I shake my head but keep my thoughts to myself. Phillip was so young when our parents made their arrangement, he never really had Dad coming down on him, making him accountable. And Mom has always been demanding, but like me, Phillip had a nanny. Even as a kid he was more defiant, more outspoken. But I don’t remember anyone saying no.

  He instigated all of our adventures—he is the reason I have a small scar on my forehead. We were playing with darts and he insisted we put apples on our heads and take turns aiming. I had to stand with the target first, and of course the first dart grazed my forehead. Our au pair at the time was yelling about tetanus shots and stitches, but it looked much worse than it was. The scar eventually faded and is now barely noticeable.

  Now the man before me is practically a stranger. He plays the part of dutiful son when he needs something from our mother, but otherwise he is careless. People are a means to an end to him, and clearly I don’t offer him anything other than free drinks at a club. Inferno is the main place he visits when in town, and our conversation doesn’t go much deeper than a check-in before we’re surrounded by girls or he stumbles away with a friend for the night.

  Phillip extends the club, offering the next swing to me, but I shake my head. We don’t like the same games anymore.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mila

  I will never get used to how expensive coffee is in New York. Shayne is nice enough to buy for us both, but the fact that brown water totals more than eight bucks is ridiculous.

  Clips of last night keep playing in my head—Bryce’s hands as he tenderly undresses me, his strong arms scooping me up, the sight of him completely naked, the shattering feelings of having sex with him.

  “That’s a new face,” Shayne observes. “Something happened.”

  “Are you psychic?” I play with my cup. It’s a needed distraction otherwise Shayne will surely see the excitement that I can barely contain.

  “Just observant. Tell me all the gory details,” his eyes widen in anticipation.

  Okay, but this is kind of big news and I am not telling everyone.

  “Scout’s honor,”
he holds up two fingers. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “So, I slept with Bryce last night. I mean, we made love. Or had sex. I don’t know—it was totally different than anything I’ve experienced.”

  “What?” His face is a mix of shock and glee. He shakes his head as if it is an absurd thought. “Okay, so did you spend the night?”

  “Yes. We fell asleep in his bed and when I woke up, he had left me a really sweet note.” I bite the inside of my lip.

  “You understand this is earth-shattering, right?”

  I look confused and try to clarify—“Because he’s my boss?”

  “No, Mila. Bryce Cole never has sex in his own bed, or lets a woman stay for the night. You, my dear, are a game changer.” He’s pointing at me while he says it.

  Shayne’s words confirm what I secretly hoped—this isn’t just a hookup. Then my curiosity kicks in.

  “How do you know all this?” I ask and then take a sip of my coffee.

  “He’s not exactly one to seek out women, so his previous companions were mostly from Inferno. And they often came back, telling tales of woe to me.” He shakes his head.

  “Remind me never to confide in a bartender,” I laugh.

  “Well, I think I can share a secret that will make us even.” His face becomes serious, and I lean in. “I have my first date with a guy tonight,” he says.

  I think I keep a straight face, trying not to register shock, but I had no idea Shayne was gay. He explains it’s a recent development, so that explains a lot. We talk for a while, and I make sure to tell him how amazing he is for taking this step and how excited I am for him. The more we talk, the more excited and open he is.

  “We’re going to a museum and I need to get a new outfit. So you’ll forgive me if I take off?” he asks.