“I hate you,” I murmured against his lips. “I despise you.”
Harry just groaned, snapping his hips faster and faster until I was a burning flame. “You infuriate me,” he retorted, his perfectly graveled voice causing my nipples to harden as they pressed against his chest. “You both incense and madden me.” I cried out when Harry’s teeth scraped along the skin of my collarbone, before his gentle tongue traced a path to my mouth and he kissed me again. He kissed and kissed me until my lips were swollen and his taste was tattooed into my senses.
He thrust faster and faster until I became an inferno, my hands clawing at his shirt. “Now!” I cried out as blistering heat engulfed me and I shattered apart. It was nothing I’d ever felt before. It was too much yet I still craved more.
“Fuck!” Harry cried, then came inside me, his hands on my ass pulling me so tightly against his hips that there was no air between us. I gripped his shoulders, gasping for breath. I hated him. I really, really did. But as his dick twitched inside me, bringing another flash of pleasure to my core, I wanted more. I craved him like the worst addiction, his curtly spoken words and arrogant and contemptuous attitude my much-coveted drug of choice.
Harry stilled against me, drawing back slowly. As I met his eyes, I saw the flare of distain; I knew it was reflected in my own. But then his mouth crashed to mine again, and I became utterly consumed. It didn’t change anything. I loathed him. He detested me. It didn’t change anything at all…
“Faith? Are you there?” The sound of Mom’s voice pulled me from reliving the dream that had accosted my drunken psyche last night. Hell, not dream. Nightmare. Harry and me…I pushed the images from my head. Of Harry pressed against me, inside me, making my toes curl in pleasure… “Faith? I know you’re there, you’re breathing funny.” I focused on the here and now, and not the fact that my thighs were trying to clench together as I walked, just remembering the steamy vision.
“Mom! I’m here. Sorry about that. The sidewalk’s busy this morning. How are you?” I was walking from the subway to my office building, chatting on my cell. I caught my reflection in a glass building as I made my way to HCS Media. I was glad I was wearing my huge sunglasses. The warm day was too bright for my hungover ass, the dream still had me flustered, and I looked like crap.
“We’re good, sweetheart,” Mom said, but I heard a hint of sadness in her voice. It instantly crushed me.
“And Papa?”
“He’s at the shop.” Mom paused. My feet suddenly did too. Some Wall Street douche plowed into my arm from behind, sending my Trenta extra-strong coffee sloshing to the sidewalk.
“Prick!” I called out to him. The asshole flicked me the finger without even looking back. I tucked myself against a nearby building, kicking the coffee off my shoes. I had some on my skirt too, but this time I didn’t care if it stained. All I cared about was Papa. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
Her silence told me it was bad. Really bad. Eventually she said, “The shop’s landlord has given your father only a matter of weeks to find the money for the back rent, or…” She trailed off.
“Or what?”
Mom sighed. “Or we lose it.”
“Mom,” I whispered, a lump clogging my throat. I couldn’t imagine Papa not having his tailoring shop. It was his life. His passion. It would break him. I knew it would.
“It’s okay, Faith. This isn’t your problem. We’ll work something out. We always do.”
“If it’s your problem, it’s mine. We will figure it out. Us three. Okay? We can’t lose it. I’ll think of something. I promise.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Mom said, but I heard the flicker of defeat in her trembling voice. My eyes welled with tears. I loved my parents. We were a team, us three. We’d never had much money, but we’d had an abundance of love and I’d never needed any more than that. Mom cleared her throat and asked, “Are you still coming for dinner on Sunday?”
I laughed, chasing away my sorrow. “I come every week, Mom. You never have to ask. Yet you always do.”
“I just like to be sure. Now, you better get to work or you’ll be late, lady.”
I checked my watch. “Shit!” I hissed and started running toward my building. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Mom. Kiss Papa for me!” I ran into the building, catching the packed elevator just as the doors closed. I squeezed myself in next to a pack of journalists all suited and booted for the day. I prayed with all that I was that the elevator didn’t break down. I’d been trapped in this steel contraption twice already. With this many people, it would turn from Mad Men to Lord of the Flies in five seconds flat.