Ella James: Unmaking Marchant

She holds my gaze with hers, her face twisted into—what? Sympathy or pity? I can’t tell. “I don’t think I could ever understand, Marchant, but I can see how you would still struggle with it. How it would lead you to…need some kind of escape.”

I lock my jaw. Unlock it. What’s wrong with her, making excuses for me? Fuck, I’m not even an addict, and she’s acting like it’s just fine if I am.

“My mom was selfish.” That’s the only conclusion I can reach. I look down at Suri, wanting her to understand. Because it’s not just my mom.

“Someone like that shouldn’t have a fucking pilot’s license. They shouldn’t have children. Or a husband. They shouldn’t be allowed to…put other people at risk that way. It’s wrong, and trust me, it leads to nothing but badness.”

Silence meets my words, so standing there, in front of her, I can hear the beating of my heart. I look down at Suri—perfect Suri. She’ll make some guy lucky someday.

“That’s really shitty, Marchant. Really, really shitty that you have to go through this.”

I grit my teeth because I don’t deserve her niceness. I shouldn’t even be walking here with her.

It’s time to put an end to this. My dumb confession. “That’s how I became…what I am, okay? My family. I had a rough time a while back and started…started using again. I’m really fucking sorry for getting you tied up in all my shit. I think my point is I’m selfish, just like my mom.”

And then I disappear around the bend, where I’m alone. The way it should be.

SURI

I give him enough time to collect himself. Then I look for him. Which does not go like I thought it would.

After an hour in the maze, I’m lost and tired. Another half hour and I’ve made it out into the grassy field between the two rows of cottages. It’s a sunny day, with warm, white light splashing through the branches of the huge oak trees. The grass looks so green it almost hurts my eyes.

I think about Marchant’s story as I walk back to his cottage. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose my parents in that kind of circumstance. It sounds horrible. It definitely gives me more perspective on the Marchant mystery, too.

When I get to the cottage, I find the front door locked, so I walk around to the back. There’s a note taped to the door.

“I am going to punish you.”

I squint down at the handwriting; it’s messy and slanted sideways. I glance around once again for Marchant, wondering if he left the note. It had to be him, right? When he doesn’t jump out of the bushes dressed in all leather, I try the door and find it unlocked.

“Hello?”

It only takes a minute to confirm I’m alone. I tuck the note into my pocket, intending to ask Marchant about it later, and settle on the couch with a copy of The New Yorker .

He walks in the front door. He looks surprised to see me and he doesn’t seem to want to meet my eyes.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and comes to stand a few feet in front of me. “I’m sorry I left you out there. That was a dick move.”

“I walked through the maze a few times. It was really pretty. No big deal.”

“Thanks.” He makes a face that’s kind of an eye roll and rubs a hand over his hair. “Hey, I’ve gotta do some stuff today. You want to talk to Tom before they start with the interior sheetrock?

“Sure.”

He nods once, then leaves the room. I don’t think about the note again until I’m undressing later that afternoon for a shower.

And since I’m thinking of him, I’m not entirely surprised when Marchant slips in after me.

There’s no talking. Just his hands, his mouth, and, when I’m spread out on the warm tile floor with water raining down on me, his cock.

I’m on my third orgasm by the time I’ve acknowledged that I’m wanting something more from him. After our talk inside the maze, I want to be even closer to him.

He’s moving inside me, physically as close as he can get, when he leans down and whispers in my ear: “Why do you do this to me?”

“Why do I do what?” I murmur.

“Why do you make me feel like everything’s okay?”

My heart sends warm fuzz through my whole body. “Because it can be okay.” I kiss his mouth and lift my hips to take him deeper.

MARCHANT

“You held out on me! You cheater!”

I smile smugly at the beautiful woman curled up on the couch beside me. “I’m an English major, Suri. ‘Wheel of Fortune’ is my thing.”

She punches me in the arm—a signature Suri Dalton move. “You acted like you hated it!”

I shrug and grin. “Acted.”

She makes a little hmph sound and folds her arm over her breasts, covering up her pert nipples, which stand out underneath my soft, gray night shirt. “I’m gonna get you back for that! Just wait!”

I laugh and thump her on the nose. “You telling me you’ve got a lot of juicy secrets?”

“Yes,” she says insistently. “I’m full of secrets. I’m Pandora’s freakin’ box!”

“Just so you know, Pandora’s Box was full of curses.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’m still full of interesting secrets. Like did you know I can speak three languages?”

“Counting English?”

She nods.

“Spanish,” I try.

She glares.

“You know pig latin doesn’t count,” I tease.

“It’s not pig latin.”

I purse my lips and look her over, pretending I can see right through her. I nod and put a finger on my chin. “I see…”

“What do you see?”

I grin. “It’s sign language.”

“What!?” She jumps up and hits me with a pillow, then folds her arms again. My gaze sweeps up her tights-clad legs, over the swell of her breasts, and over her lovely face. I grin wider. “Was I right?”

“Yes you were right! But how? That’s a hidden talent of mine. My aunt was born deaf. Everyone in my family knows— Gah! Everyone in my family .” She shakes her head. “I guess someone, sometime has written about my dad’s sister Lucy.”

I nod, feeling irrationally pleased with myself. “Someone, somewhere.”

“And you read it,” she pouts.

“What can I say?” I shrug. “I’m well-read, baby.”

She sits on my lap and frames my face with both of her hands. “How can you be smart? Pimps are supposed to be big, dumb, jocky types.”

“I’m jocky!” I stick out my lower lip, and she giggles. I grab a piece of her hair and twist it around my hand, pulling her a little closer to me. “Besides,” I whisper in her ear, “I already told you, I’m a mack.”

She giggles again. “That’s where the term ‘mack daddy’ comes from, isn’t it? That old fourth grade term the boys used when they wanted to be king of the jungle gym?”

I stroke her cheek. “And here I thought you went to private schools.”

“I did. But they were dirty little boys.”

“You like the dirty boys?” I take her hand and press it against the bulge that’s growing under my plaid pajama pants. She rubs her palm over me—and I’m stretching out on my back, lifting my ass for her as she yanks off my pants. I make quick work of hers and hold her over me while I explore her soft pussy with my tongue.

She’s groaning, her legs collapsing so she sags on top of me, in no time flat.

She’s got her arm stretched back underneath her legs so she can work my cock, but her fingers can’t reach me.

“Hold on,” she says, pulling away from me with a sexy little cry. She climbs on top of my face and takes my cock in her mouth and now it’s me who can barely think straight.

“Jesus…” She’s got this thing she does with her tongue and her lips that’s… “Oh, fuck!”