He climbs off the bed.
Motherfucker.
I’m close to spitting out the panties and following suit. As soon as I sit up, Connor reaches over and presses a hand on my collar, pushing my back flat against the mattress.
“Stay here,” he commands. He kicks the marble chessboard towards the chair, the pieces rolling onto the hardwood and off the rug. Scattered. In disarray. My heart palpitates, a dirty chill snaking down my neck. I hate the mess, like a sudden infestation of beetles and cockroaches. My need to exterminate, to feel clean, kicks in.
“Stare at the chandelier,” he instructs, sensing my trouble.
I plant my gaze on the chandelier, only a couple crystals swaying from the air conditioner. My mind nosedives when something cold touches my belly. I glance down and see the charcoal king above my belly button.
He’s not…
Connor, dressed only in navy lounge pants, makes his way across the room. “When I return, if I see that you’ve moved the king from its exact place, you’ll be in serious trouble, Rose.”
Lovely. A test. One I’m sure I’ll pass. He’s probably headed to the closet, to grab the handcuffs and the leather collar.
He pauses by our dresser, to assess me, his harsher gaze swallowing every inch of my body. My breath deepens, and my ribs collapse and expand, threatening to knock over the king. Fuck. I focus on that stupid little king and try to force it still with willpower alone.
It stops trembling.
“One more thing before I go.” His gaze sweeps me again. “Spread your legs open.”
I don’t move.
“Now.” His severe tone simultaneously goads me to unfreeze my muscles but then freeze them all over again, out of spite.
I pocket this bit of stubbornness and carefully spread my legs, watching the king remain motionless with my precision.
“Further.”
I ache to spit out the panties and retort something obstinate at him. I must take too long, or maybe Connor craves touch, because he walks over, clasps my leg and finishes the distance to his liking. They’re spread as far as I’m physically capable, exposed and soaked.
I actually moan into the damn fabric of my underwear. I really want him inside of me, hard and fast and never-ending. He’d accomplish this to perfection too. But he resituates the king that rolled off my stomach and then steps away from the bed again.
His demeanor changes, refusing me one ounce of attention. He walks…towards the bedroom door.
He’s leaving. My voice is muffled through the fabric when I try to yell his name. The king teeters, and I focus, unable to speak or move.
He doesn’t turn around. He unlocks the door and disappears into the hallway, shutting it behind him. There is no lock on the other side, which means anyone can slip in…
Spit out the panties without moving. And tear off his head. That is my first goal. I could cheat, and he’d never know. I could spit out the fabric and place the chess piece back in the same spot if it rolls off. He’s given me control of my hands and legs, but cheating…
I wouldn’t be able to marvel in my success, knowing I achieved it through a shortcut.
Very carefully, I reach up with my hands and remove the panties, my gaze trained on this enemy charcoal king. I will destroy you.
When the panties are beside me, no longer barring me from speech, I use my voice. “Connor! CONNOR!”
I hear no movement outside, and I notice the array of chess pieces on the floor again. I swallow and look back at the chandelier. Maybe this is all to help curb my OCD—or maybe that’s just part of his goal. I don’t like it.
I am completely naked with my legs spread wide open. A chess piece on my belly. And I need to know what’s happening outside. I need to see him. What if something is wrong with Jane? What if that’s why he left?
I can’t just sit here and wait.
My mind is on a turntable.
Screw him five ways to hell. I swat the king off my stomach and climb off the bed. Don’t look at the ground. I swallow again and grab my black robe, slipping it on and marching to the door.
I swing it open, expecting to find an empty hallway and light bathing the nursery where Connor has traitorously gone without me. When I turn my head right, I spot Connor leaning against the wall. He checks his watch.
“You’re just standing there?” I gape. My blood simmers, my chest rising in rage.
“You lasted one minute.”
I slap his arm, and he grips my wrist, tugging my body into his so quickly. He’s pulling me up on my tiptoes, my face closer to his but not quite equal.
My heart thrashes. “You were timing me?”
“You didn’t listen to me.” His other hand grazes the bareness of my thigh, sliding higher, maybe to see if I put on panties. My breath hitches as his fingers skim my clit.
“I didn’t…” Speak properly, Rose. “I didn’t know how long you’d be gone. You just left me there.” I growl the last three words. I worry that he’ll forget about me—that something will pull him away and he’ll leave me tied up or in a compromising position for someone else to find. This isn’t the first time I’ve had trouble being left alone while he checks on Jane.
He clasps my jaw with one strong hand, his thumb skimming my bottom lip. “Je reviendrai toujours à toi.” I will always return to you.
I blink, my fury dissipating. I will always return to you.
This was the point of his test, I realize. He kisses me, his fingers sliding through my hair, to the back of my head. I melt some, slowly beginning to believe and trust him to not forget about me.
[ 15 ]
ROSE COBALT
“She loves that stuffed animal. Do not lose it,” I instruct Ryke for the tenth time. In the living room, Jane lies at his feet, whacking the pink-frilled blanket with a rattle toy. Her favorite stuffed lion is always in her sight, and when she loses it, she screams horrifically, as though the world is ending.
Moffy is in bounds, crawling towards Jane from his array of toys. Ryke scoops him around the waist and the little boy laughs, dressed in a Spider-Man onesie. He tries to touch his uncle’s scruff.
Ryke is more comfortable with his nephew since Lily and Lo don’t have a printed list of rules for handling their kid. He told me that last week when I asked why he never visits Jane in her nursery but he’s constantly in Moffy’s.
I tap my high heel, the threatening noise dying on the rug.
Ryke suddenly tosses Maximoff in the air, the baby out of his hands. Wide, hot and frantic laser beams shoot out of my eyes. Ryke catches him around the waist upon descent, and Moffy laughs again in delight.
My mouth is permanently unhinged. I think I just had a myocardial infarction.
“Ryke,” I almost shout his name. Jane will not live past tomorrow with him.
“Yeah, I got it. The lion is fucking important.” He sets down Moffy, and the baby beelines for Jane again.
“I swear to everything that’s holy, if her first word is fuck I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”
Ryke sighs heavily, glancing between the babies and me. “We’ve been over this. If you don’t want me cursing around your baby, then don’t fucking let me babysit.”
That’s not an option. When Jane and Moffy were first born, Lily and I took time off work to be with our babies, but now that they’re a little older, we have to return to our companies.
Halway Comics has launched a brand new superhero through a twelve-issue event. Lo, through his own keen eye and passion, discovered the writer and the artist. Even though the company now has a marketing team, Lily is in charge of merchandising the new superhero throughout Superheroes & Scones: cardboard cutouts, sweatshirts, lunch boxes, watches, action figures and more.
It’s a critical time for them. This superhero could launch their brand into the stratosphere of Marvel and DC and Image Comics. Or it could fail.
I also lent control of my boutique, Calloway Couture, to trusted employees while I focus on Callo
way Couture Babies with Loren, the fashion line now owned by Hale Co. The only company at a stasis is Cobalt Inc.—which has reached a high profit margin and needs no further growth or expansion right now.
Our “no nanny” policy is still in place. We take turns working from home to watch the kids. Ryke and Daisy offer to babysit sometimes, and I wish my little sister could be here to help her boyfriend and to restrain him from tossing children and things into the air.
She’s in New York City for a therapy appointment with Frederick.
Maybe I can wait for her to come home…
I glance at my cell.
“Janie will be fine with me,” Ryke tries to assure me. He sits on the rug in front of both babies, and they crawl onto his ankles with jubilant smiles. Connor and I argue about her godparents—the same way that Lily and Lo have trouble choosing. They won’t tell us who they’re leaning towards, and we haven’t announced who we are either.