The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Twenty

Thirty minutes later, I was standing in the bathroom of my suite. I was pretty sure that right now the entire kitchen staff of the estate was convinced I was a drug runner, considering the way I’d snuck Skylar’s jar of wax down to the microwave and back. Nervous, I was. A ninja, not so much.

My underwear and shorts were in a corner by the enormous tub, and I was awkwardly balanced on one leg with my other foot propped up on the counter, spread eagle so I could examine the goods while I worked.

“All right…” I said as I dipped an applicator into the honey-colored goo. I stared at the directions. “Spread in a thin, even layer.” I shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

Just as I was about to slap on a bit of the wax, a loud knock sounded at the door, startling me to the point where I tumbled to the ground.

“Shit!” I cried, checking that the wax hadn’t spilled too. It had not, thank God. The applicator, however, was now stuck to the side of the toilet bowl.

“Shit,” I muttered again, pulling it off. It left a giant wax blob on the side of the porcelain. Well, that was going to be fun to get off.

“Jane? Everything all right?”

I scrambled up. “Eric? Is that you?”

“Yeah. I decided to leave early. Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

I frowned at the mirror. “You want to come in the bathroom?”

“Oh. Right. I guess not.”

There was an audible chuckle as I went about getting back into position. I tossed the old applicator into the trash and grabbed a new one, then dipped it in the warm wax again and set to work.

“Hey, Jane?

“Hmmm, yeah?” I asked as I slathered a thick glop of wax on my inner thigh, right at my panty line. It felt pretty good, actually.

“Are you…there isn’t anything I need to know about you before this weekend, is there? Something you should have told me?”

I froze, staring at myself in the mirror. How could he have known I hadn’t waxed? Did Skylar tell him, that little snitch? “Ah…”

“Because you can tell me,” Eric continued. “I wouldn’t judge.”

“Oh…no?” As carefully as I could, I continued applying the wax under my leg, balanced precariously with my heel on the counter. “Not bad looking, Lefferts,” I told myself, admiring my reflection. Hey, it’s a body part that should be admired. No shame in this game. “It’s…nothing,” I called back to Eric. “It’s really nothing.”

“Jane,” Eric pressed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I frowned at the mirror, trying to figure out how exactly I was going to do this as I pressed on one of the white woven papers. Clearly it wasn’t getting the wax on that was the hard part. It was the getting it off. And I didn’t have a snarky esthetician hovering next to my butt, ready to rip the thing away. All I had were my hands, coming from the opposite direction.

“Eric, I don’t think you really want to know about this.” I said, grimacing.

I reached under my leg and took hold of a strip. Here goes nothing. With as much bravado as I could muster, I yanked on the strip and pulled as hard as I could.

Rrriiiipppp!

I stared at the mirror, my mouth gaping, frozen in an open, silent scream. I was basically the human incarnation of an Edvard Munch painting, right here in this Swarovski-encrusted bathroom.Holy shit, that hurt!

“Jane?” Eric was calling. “You okay in there?”

“JesusfuckingChrist,” I whimpered to myself as I hopped around the bathroom floor, willing away the pain searing one half of my crotch. It wasn’t like I had never waxed my eyebrows or anything like that before, but I was the daughter of an esthetician. I threaded, naturally. And since my adolescent acts of rebellion had consisted of shaving, not waxing (much to my mother’s irritation), it had been well over fifteen years since I had come anywhere near this shit. Fucking idiot teenager.

“Why?” I whined. “Why would anyone do this to themselves?”

“Jane!” Eric’s voice was growing frantic as he knocked on the door. “Jane, are you all right?”

“Fine!” I shouted back. “I just need a second.”

“Jane, what’s going on?”

Ignoring Eric’s calls, I slapped more wax on the other side, being more generous this time. I didn’t want this to take any more time than it had to.

“‘Just like pulling off a Band-Aid,’ she says,” I muttered. “God, I am going to kill Skylar.”

I could do this. I could be done and then I could go downstairs and enjoy the stupid party like a grown-up, Crayola hair and all. I just had to do it. Press and tear. Get this shit off, and then sneak out of this mausoleum to find someone who could do the job right. Like I should have done in the first place.

“Eeeee!” I squealed, unable to do it. Fuck. I really couldn’t. It hurt so bad.

“Jane?”

Fuck. “Yeah?”

“Everything all right in there?”

No, it wasn’t. I couldn’t. But then I stared into the mirror at pitiful me. Lord, if the matriarch could see me now. Put on your big girl pants, soldier. I saluted myself in the mirror, pressed the paper over the spot, and pulled. And couldn’t. Get. It. Off.

“OWWWWW!” I screeched as I toppled to the ground. “Fucking shit arsefuck hell!”

The harder I yanked, the harder the strip pulled on everything…else it was attached to. But nothing came off, and the more it all hurt.

“Jane? Jane, what is it!”

Before I could tell him not to, Eric slammed his shoulder against the door, once, twice, and on the third try, he blasted through the lock and toppled into the room, sending me, the box of papers, and wooden applicators off the counter, and my waxy mess of a cooch to the floor beneath him. In his light blue suit pants and white shirt, jacket and tie removed, he looked like he had come directly from the office. A light sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead, and he had the hint of a golden five-o’clock shadow around his razor-sharp jaw. If I hadn’t been so fucking mortified, I might have jumped him.

As it was, that was not the case.

“Oh my God, Eric, GET OUT!” I screeched, shoving him away and then scrambling up by the shower.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he shouted, taking in the mess on the counter and floors and my Donald-Ducking naked ass with it. “What is that shit on the toilet? And why don’t you have any pants on? And what the fuck is on your pussy?”

“GET OUT!”

When he didn’t move, I grabbed the shower curtain behind me and whipped it around my front.

“Eric,” I said.

His mouth twitched as he looked me over. “Yes?”

“Stop looking at me.”

He did not.

I threw a hand towel at him, which he batted away. “Eric, can you please get the hell out of this bathroom and get Skylar?”

But he didn’t move, instead his gaze focused on the spot covered by the shower curtain, which was clear, of course. “She was in the pool with the kids. Should I…should I get my cousin? Or Caitlyn? They were both down there.”

“No!” I yelped. The last thing I needed was for the resident ice queen or Blair Waldorf to witness this atrocity. I had never wanted my mother so badly in my life. If anyone could fix this mess, it was her. “No,” I said a little more calmly. “I just…I just need some help.”

Eric tipped his head, and his mouth twitched again. No…no, I couldn’t ask him. Could I?

Well, it’s not like he hasn’t seen it before.

I sighed. It was either that or send him with news of my shame to the cast of The Great Gatsby lounging around the de Vries estate. No. Thank. You.

“Fine,” I said. “Fine. You want to know my secret?”

Eric leaned against the sink and crossed one ankle over the other, like he was settling in for a good story. “Please.”

I rolled my eyes. “You could be a little less smug about it.”

He didn’t answer, just tipped his head and waited.

“I…I’veneverbeenwaxedandIdecidedIneededtodoitbecauseIdidn’tknowthiswasapoolpartyandnoweverythingisstuckandIcan’tgetitoffSTOPLAUGHING!”

But it was too late. By the time I was done spitting out my predicament, Eric was bent fully over, clutching his belly while he laughed so violently tears were streaming down his face and not a single sound could make it out.

“You’re an asshole,” I said bitterly as I clutched the curtain to my midsection. Not that it did any fucking good.

“Oh, shit!” Eric howled as he stood back up, wiping his eyes. “Oh, Jesus. I really needed that today.”

“Ass. Hole. That’s you.”

“Oh, come on, Jane. It’s hilarious. You have to admit.”

I did not. And I would not.

Eric bent down and picked up the paper and applicators scattered around the floor, then set them back on the counter next to the hot wax that had thankfully not fallen. “I can’t imagine what the staff was thinking when you snuck this in and out of the kitchens.”

“No one saw me,” I lied defensively. “I was like a cat.”

“A cat with pink hair,” Eric said. “I’m sure you were really stealthy. All right, Pink Panther, let’s see what we have here.” He picked up the box and read through the direction, his brow furrowing.

“Christ, Petri, it’s not tort reform. You just reach down and yank,” I said.

He looked up. “Is that why you were able to do it?”

“I don’t have a good angle from here,” I retorted, pressing the shower curtain over my waist more when he glanced down again.

Eric set the box back on the counter, then beckoned me over. “Come on, Lefferts. Let’s have a look.”

The smug look on his face almost had me screaming at him to get out again. But the desire not to be sticky and uncomfortable won out, and so I edged over to the counter, holding the edge of the shower curtain as far as it would extend.

Eric walked the other three steps next to me and tipped his head. “Drop trou, Lefferts. I can’t help you if you’re covering it up like the Amish.”

I scowled at him. He just started laughing all over again.

“You are never allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone,” I told him. “Promise.”

He bit his lips, though merriment danced in his eyes. “Scout’s honor.”

“Were you even a Boy Scout?”

The grin widened. “No. I wanted to, but I wasn’t allowed.”

I cast my eyes to the crown-molded ceiling. “God fucking help me.”

I dropped the curtain, then sat my naked ass on the counter, spreading my leg on the one side that needed the help while I awkwardly covered the rest of me with a spread hand. I’m sure you can imagine how well that worked.

“See that strip?” I asked. “I want it off. Then I can bury my head in the sand where it belongs.”

“Yeah,” Eric said in a tone that, right now, wasn’t quite so merry. “I see it.”

He bent down to examine the situation, and it was then I made the mistake of looking too.

There was Eric’s face. Next to the unmentionables that I generally had no problem mentioning. Staring at them like they were a buffet and he was a starving man.

A flush traveled up my body, starting at my toes and reaching my head in just a few seconds.

I swallowed heavily. “Are you going to do anything?”

Eric looked up with a smirk. “I’m just enjoying the view.” Moving slowly, his hand, strong and capable, pressed over the waxed paper, pressing it into the skin I’d just been torturing moments before. I sagged backward against the mirror and took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend like I wasn’t in this position.

When he didn’t do anything, I scowled. “You’re being a pervert. Just pull off the damn strip, Petri dish.”

“All in good time.” He clicked his tongue, which, of course, only reminded me exactly what he could do with it. Bastard. “All right, I’m going to count to three and rip it off,” he said as he secured a solid hold on the strip. “Ready? One—”

“YOOWWWWW!” I glared down at Eric as he tossed the strip into the garbage and then grinned up at me. “You fucker! You said three!”

He shrugged and stood up. “You would have flinched. Now, come here.”

I wiggled around like a drunk two-year-old, dancing away the pain. “Fuck. Fuck! Why don’t they tell you how bad that’s going to hurt! Jesus, Eric, make it stop!”

The words flew out of my mouth, and before I could stop them, Eric grabbed my naked thighs, pushed me back onto the counter, and suddenly he was kissing me. His mouth was soft, pliant, and tasted mildly of the champagne that was already flowing like water by the pool. Before I could stop, my tongue slipped out to twist with his and my arms were tangled around his neck, urging him closer. It was a solid minute before I—he? One of us?—pulled away, leaving his lips slightly reddened with the remnants of my lipstick.

But something else hadn’t pulled away.

I looked down to where his fingers had slipped between my thighs, coated with oil and massaging the slightly reddened spot where the wax used to be.

I shuddered. The arm around my waist didn’t move. “You sneak. What—what are you doing?”

“The directions said to apply this right after.”

Eric nodded at the small bottle of blue azulene oil lying innocuously on the counter, but he sounded as breathless as I felt. He was close—too close. Close enough that his mouth still hovered over mine, that I could still practically taste the sweet residue of champagne on his breath. I willed my arms to leave his shoulders, but they didn’t. Instead, they just kept him close.

“I meant,” I said, “what were you doing when you…when you kissed me?” And why don’t you do it again?

A muscle in the side of his neck fluttered as he swallowed, staring at my mouth. “You asked me to make it stop. I did what I thought would work.” His eyes flickered up, cocky and searching at the same time. “You used to say my kisses were mind-melting, right?”

The scents in the small room grew suddenly more pungent. The pine scent of the wax, of course, plus the lavender-scented oil. Him, of course, that always tantalizing mix of linen and cologne. And now, underlying those scents was me—the desire that had been growing for the last months. How many times had I imagined him touching me exactly like this while I lay in bed at night? How many times had I rehashed that last, crazy night together in Boston before we decided to get married? I would have expected the growing camaraderie between us to have numbed this strange, odd desire I always seemed to feel around him. But instead, the comfort of living with Eric had only seemed to make it worse.

I wasn’t sure I had ever wanted someone this way. I wasn’t sure I ever would again.

And that idea scared the crap out of me.

“I—I think that’s probably good,” I whispered, though he continued to rub the same spot. His fingers slipped down into the crease where my leg connected to my torso, tickling the boundary of where I still had hair—the place where things started to get very sensitive.

“Jane.” His voice was a shudder—a deep quake that rumbled within us both.

I blinked. My glasses were literally fogging up. Carefully, I removed them and set them on the counter. This close, I could see everything about him with crystal clarity anyway. The question was whether that was even a good thing.

“Please don’t tell me to stop,” Eric whispered. His lips hovered maybe an inch from mine. Close enough that his breath was warm on my skin. “Will you…will you let me…God, I can’t stop thinking about it. Can you?”

His fingers tickled closer, drifting over the sensitive layers of skin, hovering over my clit. I arched slightly. All the pain was gone, and now I just wanted to feel…well, I wanted to feel what I had only given myself for the past several months. Good lord, I was dying for it.

“You need to say it,” Eric growled. He stared at his hand, completely absorbed with its progress. “I can’t do this unless you say it. I promised.”

“Eric…” My voice was hardly audible. I could barely think. “We shouldn’t…right?”

“Right.”

But he didn’t stop. Instead, his fingers made contact, exploring the terrain—in just that spot—like he had never seen or touched it before. His touch was gentle, but every so often, his fingers would dip a little farther, a little farther, coating themselves with my desire. And every time I would shake a little more.

“I just want to see you fall apart, pretty girl,” Eric whispered. His lips blew soft, hypnotic circles over my neck. “Please tell me I can at least do that. I know you need it, Jane. I have heard you…just like I know you’ve heard me too.”

The tension that had been building for the last several weeks was suddenly unbearable. I stared down to where he obviously strained against the zipper of his pants. Like a woman in a trance, I reached down and unbuttoned his pants, then tugged down the waistband of his boxers to release him. My stomach clenched as he fell into my hand, heavy and solid. He was beautiful. So fucking perfect.

“Mmmph!” Eric’s voice was muffled against my bare shoulder. “Jane!”

Through the window, I could hear the sounds of the growing crowds outside the window, the family assembling for dinner that night on the patio. But in here, I was consumed with the man in front of me, absorbed with the sight of his cock as I stroked him, watched it tremble in my hand.

Eric’s fingers found my clit and pressed slightly as his cheek scratched mine. “Jane. Please.”

It was funny. Usually I was the one begging him.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s fall apart.”

No sooner had the words left my lips, then two of those dexterous fingers slipped into my waiting pussy. I arched into him, wanting to take him deeper, wishing on some primordial level that they were the throbbing cock currently in my hand and not just fingers breaking down my barriers.

“Fuckkk,” I hissed as he curved them upward while his thumb clamped over my clit. They began to move in tandem, over that bundle of nerves that was desperate for this exact touch.

“You have no idea,” Eric growled. “No fucking clue how bad I want you right now, beautiful.”

My hand moved faster, and with a growl, Eric bent down and bit my nipple, right through the thin white cotton of my T-shirt.

“Ow!” I squealed, but with my free hand, I kept his head where it was, allowed him to suck and torture just the right way while his hand continued its other sweet torture.

“Oh, Ch-christ,” I mumbled as the tension grew. And grew. “Eric…sh-shit! I’m…oh…my…God…”

“I want to see it, Jane,” he murmured, though his own voice had long since lost its clarity. He buried his face into my neck, allowed his hips to move in time with his fingers, effectively fucking my hand the same way his fingers were fucking my pussy. He might have begged me in the beginning, but the man was completely in control.

“Eric!” I cried as my orgasm overtook me. Top to bottom, I shook, the high of his touch flying through my entire body with the force of a tidal wave. It wasn’t just the effect of the moment. It was the effect of two full months of wanting this. Needing it.

Eric swore profusely as he thrust into my limp hand a few more times and then spilled himself all over my thigh, the crease of my hip, my lower stomach, and my pussy. I stared at the mess as my breath slowly returned to normal. I was in no hurry to clean it up. For some reason I liked it. I liked seeing the evidence of Eric’s loss of control…all over me.

His lips found mine again with another kiss, this one sweeter, almost sad. “Jane.” He pressed a towel to my naked lower half, covering up the remnants of his release.

The sound of my name pulled me closer to reality. We weren’t supposed to be doing this. It was only going to make things messier. I broke the kiss, then took the cloth away and finished the job myself, hopping down from the counter and grabbing another of the towels hanging from the racks to wrap around my waist.

“Jane,” Eric said again, beckoning me back to the moment.

But it had passed. I didn’t know what it was exactly, or why, but I knew I didn’t want to ruin whatever we had built these last several weeks.

“It’s fine,” I said, turning to the shower.

God, I was a complete fucking mess. My white shirt was damp over my braless nipple, my neck looked like someone had scraped a straight-razor over it, and my legs were a goddamn disaster. There was no way I’d be walking in a bathing suit around the pool. I needed to find a Mumu—STAT.

“Is there anything else I can…help with?” I didn’t think he meant to sound so playful, but it did.

I glanced over my shoulder, but found I couldn’t quite look at him.

“No,” I said quietly. “I just need to clean up, and I’ll be down for dinner.”

I forced myself to turn around and look at him so he would see he hadn’t totally broken down every barrier I had (he definitely had). Eric had already put himself back together—everything tucked and zipped away, every hair smoothed back into place. His bright white shirt didn’t even have a single wrinkle. Meanwhile I probably had makeup smudged across my face like a battered clown, and I still wasn’t wearing any pants.

“Okay?” I said, tipping my head toward the door.

He gave me a long look, sweeping his dark gray eyes over the messy contents of the bathroom, but landing back on me. Staying on me.

“Okay,” he said finally, and then left me to ponder exactly what line we had just crossed. What we had just done.