Ezra and Ella

Notes:

I'm really astonished by how many people is reading this!! *O*
I don't even know if you are real people (damn bots era!) , but at least I'm happy for the views ^^' 

Chapter VIII: A better man

Bronte’s POV

I kept my word and spent the whole previous day with you; doing every sort of domestic task together, enjoying the cosy atmosphere.

It reminded me of those quiet times when you liked teaching me something, such as fixing damaged books, or carving pumpkins around Halloween.
Sure there were also our hot writing challenges and foreplay, but for now it’s better to focus on just the quieter stuff.

But you kept your word as well, proving you never grew tired or having me around, not even for a single moment.
How sweet.

That’s why it’s so tough waking up this morning, knowing I’ll have to leave soon, just the time for a quick breakfast together.

Not only are you already up, but breakfast is already on the table.

“Good morning, honey, this is a very good way to start the day.” I smile at you, as I sit at the table.

“It’s just my attempt to make you get all the proper energy to convince everyone in the meeting in the shortest possible time, so you can come back to me as soon as you can.” You smile at me, serving the omelette.

“That’s the plan, actually.” I smile at you, as I pour some orange juice.

Unlike me, you do know the right amount of lemon to use in it. 

“And don’t think I didn’t notice that ‘honey’ you used again.” You smirk.

“It’s impossible not to do it when you do such honey-like things.” I reply as we eat.

And yes, I might be flirting with you a little bit.

“Let’s play a game…” I suggest as I enjoy a crunchy slice of bacon.

“What kind of game?” You grow curious, as you take a couple of pancakes.

“You and I became a famous couple, what should our name be? You know, that thing like Brangelina, Bennifer, Jelena?”

“Who is supposed to be the last name?” You stare at me puzzled.

“Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez… but maybe you’re too old for that!” I tease you, throwing some berries at you.

You catch them without any effort and use them to sprinkle your pancakes.

“Hey Missy, remember that the ‘O’ word is not very nice to use!” You act insulted.

“Okay, my bad, sorry, Mr-Still-So-Young-And-Full-Of-Energy, but please let’s play the game.” I stare at you with big puppy eyes.

“Okay, proving by contradiction, everyone is cheering for the brilliant young best-sellers and the multi-murderer left for dead. It’s the Broe era.” You start.

I grimace.

“Broe sounds so much like a rapper saying ‘Bro’ … so awful! Let’s try Joe and Bronte… Jonte?”

“Well, you know, it makes me think of ‘joint’. And, that’s true, you’re my drug, sweetheart, but not literally!” You make me laugh.

I just don’t want to surrender.

“I got it, we’re not using my real name: Louise and Joe make… Loe, but it sounds like ‘Low’ and we’re anything but low.”

“Right. And let’s see… Joe and Louise make Joouise, which reminds me of ‘juice’. Tasty, maybe, but we can do much better.”

“Any way we try to connect them, our names melted together suck!” I protest, as I eat my omelette.

You lift a forkful of your pancake, as you stare at me solemnly.
 

“You’re right, our relationship has no future. Let’s split, right here, right now!”

“Shut up and let’s finish the breakfast!” I laugh, kicking you under the table.

Once we’re done, you insist on walking me to the car.

“Are you feeling nervous?” You ask me, as you open the car door.

You’re always such a gentleman.

“Meeting the staff? Nope. Leaving you on your own for a while? Yes. A lot.”

“Don’t worry, I can look after myself.” You joke about it, but we both know what I mean.

You narrow your eyes at me.

“Wait. Do you really have to go to your meeting dressed like this?”

“Well, it’s my Publishing House, I have to look decent.” I justify, staring at my reflection in the car that’s so polished it’s practically a mirror.

I guess there’s nothing wrong with my indigo sleeveless halter minidress with a longer skirt on just one side.

“Well, that’s why too decent. What about putting Suzanne over it?” You suggest.

I scoff.

“I’m flattered you still recall the name of that Cardigan of mine, but nope, that’s not going to happen, Joe. And if it makes you feel any better I have a scarf in my bag.”

“Actually it doesn’t. And what about those sexy shoes?” You ask, pointing at my high-heels sandals.

“Huh! Don’t worry, I’m going to switch to a pair of ballerina shoes as I drive.” I play dumb.

“Bronte… it’s not what I meant!”

I know. With you it’s impossible playing dumb.

“Just tell me, are there some guys at the meeting?” You inquire, your tone a bit colder.

“I can’t believe you’re asking me this!” I glare at you.

“I can’t believe you’re not answering!” You strike back.

“Fine. The StoneFire is made mostly by women and the younger man around there probably is around seventy years old. But even if it wasn’t so... I’ve already put my eyes on the most elegant man ever, a long time ago.” I wink at you.

You chuckle in disbelief.

“Elegant. Maybe formerly. Surely not now with this just-broke-out-from-prison look and I mean it literally.”

Okay, maybe now you’re wearing anonymous jeans and a T-shirt and are not trapped inside your haute couture clothing anymore, but to me it doesn’t make any difference.

“Oh, I beg to differ. It’s not what you wear who makes you Prince Charming, it’s just you and the way you can make a girl feel special…. maybe even more if you don’t try to kill her multiple times!” I make you laugh.

“Did I already tell you how happy I am not to have accomplished that?” You murmur, about to touch my face, but you retrieve your hand at the same time.

I guess you need some encouragement from me.

“Yes, but I never grow tired of hearing that.” I smile, taking your hand and placing it against my face, leaning in your touch. “So now are you going to stop acting as a jealous boyfriend?”

“It’s what I am.” You shrug.

“What? Jealous… or my boyfriend?” I tease you.

“I guess both.” You smile. “You know, being the kind of boyfriend who can’t get very physical with his girlfriend doesn’t help my jealousy.”

“Oh, c’mon, Joe, you know that a better man can’t be this jealous.” I massage your shoulders, in a further attempt to calm you down.

And it works.

“Okay, Bronte. I’m going to let you go, dressed like that and fully trust you, but before…. could you just pose for me? You’re just too gorgeous not to be framed.”

I laugh, put on my sunglasses for a better diva effect and please you with some sexy poses and more stupid ones, lowering my glasses to look at you better.

“Okay, now that you have enough material to get a whole calendar, can I go?”

“Drive prudently, don’t go too fast, keep your eyes on the road and call me when you arrive… oh wait, you won’t.” You pout on the last part.

“How long are you going to burden this on me, Joe?” I cross my arms against my chest.

“I guess for a very long time. You, forsaking me for the whole day!”

Now you sound insulted. And a bit childish, too.
The cute kind of childish.
 

“I’ve already told you it’s not the whole day, just a big part of it.”
 

"To me it’s still too much time away from you.” You’re pouting again.

And I can’t resist.

“Close your eyes.” I invite you, as I move some steps in your direction.

“Why?” You look at me suspiciously.

“Just do it.”

You obey and the moment after my lips are on yours, slowly, demanding, patiently waiting.
And you part your lips, but keep your eyes closed.
I know, because my eyes are still open, but I guess I’m going to close them as well, to better enjoy this moment.

The tip of your tongue gently pokes against my slightly parted lips that just open more, welcoming the oh so pleasant intrusion.

We slide closer to each other, more like glued one to another.

One of my hands caresses your shaved head, which is a bit raspy, but in a good way.
I sort of like that.
The hair is already about to grow out again and I can’t wait for it to be long enough for my plans.

My other hand caresses your face, descends on your neck and lands on the edge of your T-shirt.
I have to fight the wildest part of me not to rip it off you.

After sweetly cupping my face for a while, your hands descended on my shoulders, traced my waist and stopped at my hips, gripping them.
I know you would like to do more, but you respect me and allow me my time.
Part of me really appreciates this… the other part of me would just want to have your hands all over me.
And within, speaking of a more specific zone.

Your tongue caresses my palate, your teeth softly graze my lower lip, our mouths devouring each other.

“Oh, Bronte!” You groan in such a sexy way.

I missed all of this so much, that’s why I should stop.

“Okay, I guess I gave you a lot to think about while I’m away.” I say, parting from you.

“Mm. I guess someone broke the rebuild-trust rule again.” You smirk way too smugly.

“Yeah, see? Sometimes you get to be that kind of boyfriend who can get a little more physical with his girlfriend; but it’s me who decides when to break the rebuild-trust rule and not the other way around.” I point out.

You don’t seem disappointed at all, as you pass a thumb around your upper lip.

“Huh. So Bossy. I like it.” You grin.

“Keep walking through this right path that leads you to be a better man and I’ll feel more and more willing to break the rule.. even further than this.” I tease you, licking my lips.

Dammit, I’m forgetting what I did to you.
 

“Well, as further as we’re allowed to go… but we’ll get content with that!” I shrug and, once more, you didn’t seem upset. “Okay, now I really have to go.”

You wave me goodbye and I get in the car. I set the engine in motion and stare at you from the rear view mirror, until you become an indefinite spot.

This time it’s different, I’m not going to do some grocery or purchase some books for you - well, now that I think about it, there’s that lovely rare bookshop on Madison Ave… not so far from the Publishing House. I should pop in after the meeting. -.

This time I’m going to leave you alone for a remarkable amount of hours. And if it’s true that you won’t have a chance to control me, this puts me in the very same unpleasant condition. Because it’s a two-edged sword. I don’t have any chance to control you, either. You’re technically free to do everything.

It’s like someone on a diet who discovers that his nutritionist is not around anymore, so this allows him to eat all the junk food he pleases.

No okay, geez, I should find a comparison that makes you seem less… a cannibal, shit!

Let’s try again: it’s like leaving a former alcoholist who managed to keep himself from drinking for more than two years  without his support group to turn to if he falls again into the temptation; so he’s very likely to go out and lose himself with every kind of liquor he has access to.

Okay, this works a tad better, I just have to think it’s alcohol and not… blood. I mean, it’s not that you drink people’s blood. You’re a vampire only in your pages… right? Right.

However, it’s not that I can be your support group, I shot someone -actually, you - just once, without even killing.
This for sure doesn’t make me an ‘alchoholist’ at the same level as yours.

Okay, let’s get this fucking over. No need for stupid comparisons.
I’m gonna leave you on your own for a while and I’m fucking not okay with that.
But trust is a two-way street and I wanna believe in you and in the fact that nothing bad is going to happen.

Because mutual trust is the only thing that can bring us closer again.
And speaking of closer…

When we kissed so passionately before… Am I wrong or did I feel a certain part of you very happy to have me that close?
But it’s only  a part of that certain part, right? Why the hell did it feel so… whole?

Probably it’s only my imagination.

------------------------------------ 

By the moment I managed to switch all my thoughts and paranoia off I could pay much better attention to the road and in a couple of hours or a little more I’m parking near the StoneFire Publishing House.

If I’m here now, I owe a lot of that to you.
Who, more than two years ago, made all those phone calls to make me have that interview with Alyssa Strom?

Who agreed that I left my dark gothic romance in stand-by, in order to write our story?

Neither of the projects were developed at the end, but that brought me to write my first best seller.. and from that on everything changed.

I can’t deny that among all the horrible things you did, Joe, there’s also something good.

At least for me.

I switch my ballerina shoes back to the high-heel sandals as I switch my usual easy-going attitude to the one of a powerful and self confident young woman, because I have to convince them all.

I reach the reception.

“Hi, Dana, it’s been a while. How are you?”

“Hi, Louise, everything is fine, thank you, and you look awesome!” She smiles at me. “Everyone has  just arrived, meet them in the Conference Room.”

When I open the door, everyone is there for real: Alyssa, my editor, Jane, her assistant, Karen, my proofreader, Mr. Jameson, the Sales Manager, Mr. Kempett, the Marketing Director and Mrs. Shuffles, the C.E.O.

I open the bottle of water that’s already at my seat and take some sips. I stare briefly at the view from the fifteenth floor and wait for them to speak to me.

“Louise, darling, it’s always a pleasure to see you.” Alyssa starts.

Well, my dear, don’t get accustomed to that because if everything goes as I plan, this will be the last physical time.

“It’s always a pleasure for me too.” I act as fake as a 300 bucks banknote. “Did you receive my last chapters?”

“Of course we did, and let me tell you. It was already a great start, but the chapters you wrote in these last weeks, I don’t know if something changed in your life or what your secret is, but, girl, keep going on this way!” Karen cheers.

“Huh. I guess it’s because I left Michigan, which has never been my place and found somewhere that I feel like home much more.”

A two-room flat, in the middle of nothing, hand in glove with you, a serial killer whom I contributed a lot to make him break free from prison… because although it’s against every moral or ethical principle… I love you hopelessly.
That’s my concept of home.

“But maybe it’s also due to the last news we all heard about. The death of Joe Goldberg.” The C.E.O. comments. “For real, this time.” She adds, for good measures.

I make a huge effort to keep cool and not fall from the armchair.

“Yeah. That was surely such a relief and I guess it really reflected on my pages, it was like to have been brought to a brand new life.” 

Okay, now, where’s my Golden Globe?

“We just were wondering if you could add something more to the chapter where Lottie leaves Tampa, just focus more deeply on her feelings.” Jane suggests.

“Sure, no problem, consider it already done!” I smile. “Really, I can write anything you prefer, I just have a small request, which is not err… so small.” I fidget a little bit.

“What do you mean?” Alyssa inquiries.

“I didn’t expect such a success when you published my first book. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m immensely thankful to you for that, but… I can't cope with it. All those people recognizing me if I walk by the street…”

And I’m not lying, it happened for real, especially in Michigan.

“It’s just too odd, I mean. Did I want to be a writer? Yes, of course, more than anything else. Did I want to be so exposed? Nope, or better, now that I found out what it feels like, I know it’s not something for me.” I find the courage to admit.

Mr. Jameson glares at me.

“Miss Flannery, are you telling us you want to retire?”

“Right after we told you that the second book has so much potential?” Karen stares at me, confused.

“I’m afraid you got me wrong. Of course, I’m going to go on with ‘That’s not for you’ and, I hope, with every other project you will help me develop, but I’m just asking them not to be associated with my face anymore. I’d like to go under a nom de plume.”

There’s a minute of deep silence.

“Well, it’s common knowledge that it’s always a smart brainwave that usually creates a pleasant spark of curiosity among the loyal readers.” Mr Kempett states. “And usually it’s a sort of game for them to try to figure out who the author behind the nom de plum could be, maybe studying their style.”

“Well, I can try to sound different from ‘On our way’...”

“Yes, but only a little, not too much. Remember, it’s your style that brought you where you are now, Louise.” Alyssa reminds me and I nod.

“As long as I get to know what happens when Lottie starts to spy on Jim I accept every compromise!” Karen grins.

“But, more important than everything, don’t forget that the StoneFire is a family. And in a family it’s important that every member feels at ease.” The C.E.O. smiles reassuringly at me.

I really can’t believe my luck.
It has been easier than I expected.

“So, are you all saying that you accept my request?” I wonder, my tone filled with hope.

“Sure, if you don’t regret the fact that you won’t take part anymore to the promotional phase, the booksignings, the interviews with the bloggers and everything else, Louise…” Mr Kempett mumbles.

“I won’t.” I declare.

I couldn’t care less of Louise Flannery, now I have Bronte to think about.

“I guess we have a deal, then.” Alyssa grins.

“So, Miss Flannery, which is the nom de plume you would like to pick?” Mr. Jameson asks me.

Joe’s POV

I wave you goodbye as long as your car disappears on the horizon.

I go back home and close the door.
I’m all alone once more, just like the last couple of years.
Okay, I must say that at least now I have a lot more space to walk around.
 

So it’s true, now you left.
It ‘s not that you left me, you just temporarily left this small town, I know this is not an abandon.

Also because I couldn’t bear the umpteenth one.
Especially not from you.
I still remember your words, that night in the cage, when you opened the door and hugged me so tight.
You said you wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
And despite everything that happened between us after that, you managed to keep your promise.
Because you still believe in us. In me.
You believe that I can be a better man.
And I want to.
Probably I already am.

A better man has full trust in his girlfriend.
And that’s what I have.
But it’s also true that a better man should try to know a lot more about his girlfriend’s job.
And I guess it’s what Google has been invented for, right?
The StoneFire Publishing House site slowly loads on my mobile and… look, there’s even the page dedicated to the Organization Chart.

You were right, there’s not even a young guy around, only very old men as Managers and Directors, but mostly there are women.
I just hope there’s no R.I.P. Peach-wannabe around, but I want to be optimistic.

Before placing the phone back to the table I take a look at the pictures I took of you before.
There are such funny poses, like this one, where you look like one of those starlets who shows the grand prize in a quiz show, the car, in this case.
There’s one where you lower your sunglasses and blow me a kiss, cute; there’s one where you pose like a roaring lioness, there’s a very amusing one where you unfurl the long part of that pretty dress of yours, as if you were a sort of matador and… oh, god.

I didn’t even recall I took this one.

No more sunglasses, your eyes are closed and your lips so slightly parted as you grab your hair…

You’re such a temptation.

It would be so easy to go on your bed, lie down and have my fun with this pic of yours.
But I’m a better man, now, I would never invade your privacy in such a gross way.

That’s why I’m going to do it in the bathroom.

I sit on the toilet’s lid and lower the zip of my jeans.
My eyes glued to that pic.
My left hand crosses the waist band of my boxers and starts caressing my sensitive cock.

Slowly, with no rush.
Yeah, just like that.

You look so lustful in this picture, Bronte, you probably are.
And I remember what you said before leaving, how upset you were, thinking that we can’t go any further anymore.
Oh, you’re so wrong, sweetheart.
We can have it all the way.
You can have it all the way.
Every still perfectly working inch of me.
I know how you long for that.
I can tell by the famished way you kissed me, the way you rubbed yourself against me.
I enjoyed every single second of that, Bronte, but you left me so hungry for more.

That’s why I gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.

My hand slides faster and faster, until my cock is fully erect, my hand now closed  in a fist around it.
Up and down. Up and down.
Every single time a little faster.
In my mind, of course, it’s not my hand doing this, and it’s not yours, either, Bronte.
It’s your mouth.

Your hot, welcoming, skillful mouth I miss oh so much.
Take it, Bronte, take it, it’s all yours.

The rhythm now is frantic, I’m panting, my hair gets sweaty.
 

I can’t take it anymore and I come in my hand.

Fuck.
That was so powerful.
And now I need a shower.

 

And as the jet of needed cold water falls all over me I just wonder how it’s going to be when the real you is going to do it.
But it’s not going to happen soon.
And I don’t mean the stupid rebuild-trust rule I’m going to respect for as long as you want it.
I mean after that.
Once we’ll go back to our intimacy, our undeniable sexual chemistry.
I’ll let you believe for a while what you already believe.
It’s going to be fun.
Especially when I’ll let you find out how things really are.
Our writing nights, the romantic ones, the outlandish ones, the hottest ones, our roleplays, our sessions of light bondage; we'll have everything back, Bronte.
With the only difference that it’s going to be a lot better.
No more catfishing from you, no more hidden truths from me.

Once I’m clean and dry I sit on the sofa, rereading one of the books you bought for me, ‘The Lady of the Camellias’.
Obsessed over a beautiful woman, checking on her, wanting to give her maybe not the richest life, but one full of real love.
Armand, dear friend of mine, no one can understand you better than me.

By the time I’ve reached half book it’s been a little more than two hours since you’ve left.
You should have reached the Publishing House now.

I move to the desk in your bedroom, where Janine is waiting for me.

We have some job to do, I still have to complete the part of my gift for your oncoming birthday.
After more or less one hour of typing and rewriting, and additions and embellishments I can consider myself rather proud of the ultimate result.
As I reread my work for the third time, I hear an unmistakable noise.

Someone is knocking on the door.
 

I tense up, then I relax.
I almost forgot.
Will said his man would come to me today.

I go to open the door.

“Get in, quickly!”I order, without even looking at him.

“Hello, Joe. It’s Will who sent me here, you should know.” The man grumbles, his expression unreadable.

Wait a minute. Did I already see this guy?

Probably it is my imagination that’s playing tricks on me.
 

“Did someone see you? Did someone follow you?” I inquire, more and more suspicious.

“Can’t hardly think of a more desert area than this one, I myself had a hard time reaching this house.” He answers, before handing me the box.

First I see the book for you, already packaged in an elegant golden gift wrap paper.
Then I take the envelope with our passports inside and I study them.
They’re exactly how I had asked, more than two years ago.
And I chuckle, because I think of our little game at breakfast and I guess you’re gonna smile, Bronte, when you see this.
I have to thank the only person who made this possible.
Will, my good friend, you’re really the best.
And, wait… why now am I fucking blond in my picture?

Why do I think you have something to do with this, Bronte?
Once you’re back, you’ll need to explain yourself.

I put the passports back in the envelope and I stare better at the guy.
Fuck, I wasn’t wrong.
I do know him.

It’s one of the three fake guards who were in the van with me.
It’s a witness of what happened.
He knows.

And I don’t like that.
But I’m a better man now and a better man tries to solve troubles without resorting to violence.
 

“Oh, so you do talk! In that van you were so annoyingly silent!” I state and I see the guy flinch.

Now he knows that I know.

“Hey, mate, I got my money, I did my job, I don’t want to fuck anything up. Are we cool?” He grows nervous.

“Do you need some tips from me for your delivery?” I ask him.

After all, you left me some money before going.

“Nope, I’ve already been well paid. I just had to do the delivery and that’s what I did. Can I go now?” He heads towards the door, but I close it, locking it and pulling the key away.
 

“Not so soon.” I say.
 

My tone is calm, but cold.

“What if someone caught you? What if the police might find you? Would you talk? Would you say what really happened that day in the van?”

I ask these questions as I glance at the ‘Crime and Punishment’ book I placed on the sofa.
Edgy and heavy enough to become a useful weapon if I wanted to.

“There’s no way the coppers can trace me, mate, but even if that happened… I would never talk. You have my word.”

Now the guy is sweating.
I could say he’s afraid of me.
And I would lie if I didn’t admit to myself that I’m liking that.

“How can I trust your word?” I inquire.

“Because I have a family. I have two kids and Will Bettelheim is not someone I want to piss off!” The guy swears, more and more scared.

It’s been a while since someone’s life has been in my hands.

Such a thrilling sensation.

“We are cool as long as you don’t tell a soul you saw me.” I guarantee to him as I insert the key again and open the door to him.

The book is somehow in my hand that I’m hiding behind my back.
 

“Saw who?” He makes me laugh, before he turns his back to me to go.

I’m going to do the right thing, only for you, sweetheart.
Because now you’re my family, Bronte.
And a better man must do everything to protect his family.

TBC