Hold Me Close Read online

  “Yeah. It happens. Work. Kid. They take up a lot of time.”

  “My kid’s amazing,” Effie said. “It’s not like I mind.”

  “I didn’t mean... Yeah, of course. I just meant... Hmm. Sorry?”

  Effie relaxed a little at the same sound of uncertain apology in his voice she’d just had in hers. God. Relationships. Even when they weren’t complicated, they were a pain in the ass to navigate.

  The conversation continued. They talked about television—he’d never seen Runner. Effie had never heard of his favorite show. They talked about books. Mitchell devoured at least one or two a week. Effie barely one a year. They didn’t have much in common, but it didn’t seem to matter very much, because Mitchell made her laugh.

  “It’s been two hours,” Effie said finally with a yawn and a glance at the clock. “I have to get up early to get Polly ready for school.”

  “Do you ever think about having any more?”

  This surprised her. “Sure. I mean, in a vague sort of way, in that I’d want her to have a sibling. I never had a sister. I sort of want Polly to have one.”

  “Do you have a brother?”

  Brother.

  “No,” Effie said with a small shudder. “How about you? Kids. Want them?”

  “I’ve thought about it. They’re a lot of work. I see my sister with hers and wonder how anyone survives the toddler years. But...yeah. I think I’d like to have some of my own. Five, maybe.” Mitchell laughed.

  “Umm...”

  “Joking,” he put in. “I’m joking. One or two would be fine.”

  Another baby. Effie put a hand on her belly. Polly’s birth had been difficult and complicated. The doctors had told her there was little chance she’d conceive again. Not impossible, but not likely. At what point, exactly, was it appropriate to tell a potential long-term mate who was asking about having children that she might not be able to give him any?

  Not at this point, she decided. Too soon. Too intimate.

  “Well, good night,” Mitchell said when the silence had stretched on. “Did you fall asleep on me?”

  “No. Sorry. But, yes, it’s late. Good night,” Effie said.

  “When will I see you again?” He snuck in the question before she disconnected.

  “When do you want to see me again?”

  “Right now,” Mitchell said.

  Oh.

  “How about tomorrow? Lunch?”

  “Lunch it is. Meet at the Blue Moon Café? Noon?”

  They agreed. He disconnected. There it was. Dating, she could do this. Effie put her phone on the charger and tucked herself tight into her blankets, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

  Sex would help, and not the sort she’d had with Mitchell, but Polly was home and that meant Effie couldn’t sneak out to knock on Bill’s door. And Heath...she couldn’t call him. He might refuse to show up, even if she did. That left her bedside drawer and her small collection of sex toys.

  She got up to make sure her door was locked, then slipped off her clothes and stretched out, naked, in the cold air. Her nipples peaked. She pinched them. Hard. It wasn’t the same as someone else’s touch.

  She slid a hand between her legs, stroking the soft hair. Then her clit. Lower, she dipped two fingers inside herself, but she wasn’t wet. Well, she had lube for that.

  Rolling onto her side, Effie pulled out the smooth metal dildo she’d bought online. One end was bluntly curved. The other had nodules. Coating it in lube made it slippery and she had to be careful—once, she’d dropped it on her foot and nearly broken a toe. It was cold when she pushed it inside her, but the sting was good and she bit her lip to hold back a moan. Slowly, slowly, she fucked it in and out, deeper each time until the blunt end nudged her cervix.

  It wasn’t going to be enough.

  One of the reasons why masturbation was never as satisfying for her was because...well, she could slap her own face, pull her own hair, but like pinching her nipples, it was never the same. Effie knew about pain play, BDSM, all that sort of thing. She didn’t get off on being handcuffed or anything like that.

  She liked to feel dirty when she fucked.

  She didn’t need a shrink to tell her why. She knew it was because of what had happened to them in that basement, of how they’d turned to each other without anyone else to turn to. She knew it was because pain and struggle were the first things that had ever accompanied sex for her, and she’d imprinted on them like a baby duck.

  Effie knew everything about herself she wished she did not.

  For a moment, she almost gave up and put away the toy. This was going to take more of an effort than she wanted to make. Again, she thought of calling Heath. He was angry at her. If she could convince him to come over, he would still be angry. He would bruise her. He’d fuck her. He would grab her tight and oh...oh, yes. There it was.

  Effie arched, fucking the toy deeper inside her as she imagined Heath fisting his fingers into her hair and pulling tight. She thought of how it felt to hit him, the sound of his groans. She rolled her hips. The cold metal had warmed. The blunt end rubbed her G-spot with every thrust.

  More lube. Slick fingers. She needed more. Rolling again, Effie pulled out the small glass plug and eased it into her ass. It stretched, hurting, but oh, fuck, yes, like that, so full, it felt good. She clenched on it, rocking as she fucked herself faster. Harder. Pinching her clit between her thumb and forefinger, she jerked it like a tiny cock.

  Heath was the only man who’d ever fucked her in the ass. She thought of that now, being stretched and filled, his cock moving inside her while he fucked her cunt with his fingers. She thought of how once he’d spanked her clit at the moment of climax, how it had hurt but made her come so hard she saw stars.

  She thought of biting him.

  More than once, how she’d drawn blood.

  How he begged her to hurt him, and she did, and he hurt her. Over and over. Desire and suffering, all wrapped up together in a way only the two of them could understand.

  Carried by these memories, her ecstasy overtook her and left her shaking. Effie sobbed out a low cry, limp in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her body felt pounded, sore, aching.

  So did her heart.

  chapter twenty-five

  “Mom...” Polly tapped her pencil on the table, then put it down. Her brow furrowed. “I have to talk to you.”

  Effie looked up from the sketch pad she’d been balancing on her knees. She’d been drawing Polly, smooth lines for her blond hair, rounded curves for the slope of her shoulders. Black and white, smudgy lines. She was no portraitist, but it was turning out better than she expected.

  “Sure.” Effie let her pencil shade another line and gave Polly a sideways glance. “What’s up?”

  “I did something bad.”

  At this, Effie set the sketch pad aside. “Uh-oh.”

  Polly’s lower lip quivered. “I went on the internet.”

  Oh, shit. What had she seen? Effie flashed to some of the worst stuff she’d had the misfortune to stumble across, and she was an adult who could presumably filter out that kind of horror.

  “What was it, Pollywog?” Effie leaned forward, bracing herself.

  “It was about you.”

  That was shit of a different color. Effie sat back. “Ah.”

  Polly frowned and picked up her pencil again to tap it rapidly on her math homework, a habit that usually drove Effie nuts but which she ignored at the moment. Polly looked at her mother, mouth working. Finally, she put the pencil down again and shook her head.

  “I found this website that talks about you.”

  “Oh. That.” Effie bit the inside of her cheek for a second. She should’ve known this discussion wasn’t over with gossip from bitchy tween girls and their mothers. “Honey, those pe