Faeling

Merritt maneuvered Oz past the drying paintings, his mouth still moving against hers, and pushed her onto her bed. Her hair was rumpled and her mouth was red from the forceful kiss. He looked at her for a moment, waiting for her to yell at him or tell him to stop. Instead, she stared at him with a blank expression before giving him a small smile he couldn’t help but think was a little sad. She reached out for him with her small, graceful hands, and pulled him close by the lapels of his suit. He crawled onto the bed next to her, kissing her roughly, his heart pounding as she ran those perfect hands through his no-longer-perfect hair. He couldn’t help but think that this time it was his mouth that tasted of peaches.

After a few long kisses, Oz pulled back to slip out of her sweatshirt, nodding at Merritt to take off his jacket. He was surprised that he hadn’t done it already—usually keeping his Armani in order was the first thing on his mind, regardless of the situation. He removed the expensive jacket and threw it gently over the back of a nearby chair, not even stopping to silently pray that it wasn’t doused in paint like everything else in the room. When he turned back to Oz, she was staring at him quietly, her expression inscrutable. Merritt would almost say her mind was elsewhere, but she was now zealously kissing his neck. Her delicate fingers unfastened his tie carelessly and threw it to the floor as he slid a hand under her tee-shirt, fingers dancing over the soft, pale skin.

It was only as Merritt pulled her shirt over her head, mussing her fine blonde hair even further, that he realized none of this was part of the plan. He still needed to hold her exhibition at Daedalus. He hadn’t exactly planned to see Oz after he’d won her, and if he slept with her now, there was no way he’d be able to avoid her. When her small hands began to unbuckle his belt, however, all thought left him. He ran a hand down her smooth stomach and quickly unbuttoned her paint-stained jeans, pulling them down her thighs. Again he paused, but this time for an entirely different reason. Oz’s hands stilled as he gently moved a fingertip over the stark white scars marching in a tidy line up and down her thighs.

He could only look at her. She was so beautiful, half naked but far from shy, her dark blonde hair framing her melancholy hazel eyes, her lips swollen from kissing him. For once, Merritt couldn’t find the words. He just stared at her, brows furrowed, silently asking all sorts of questions.

Oz smiled at him in an almost mocking way, the way you’d smile at the naivety of a child and shook her head. “People can’t be happy all the time, Merritt.”

He opened his mouth to dispute the proclamation somehow, when his cell phone rang. Instead of a serious statement, a single curse escaped his lips. He stepped back from the bed, the conversation, everything, and answered the call.

“Hello, this is Merritt Peters.” He fought yet another sigh as he absentmindedly fixed his hair, trying to think of anything but Oz’s fingers in it.

“It’s Theo. Rhiannon Grey is dead.”