I just want his body on mine, until the real world fades away and it’s just the two of us. Because the two of us make sense.
He’s being tentative again, unsure if he can really take me like he wants, so I take the lead. I lure him to the bedroom with my lips against his, pushing him down on the plush mattress and straddling his legs. I pull my shirt off and drop it on the floor by his mattress, arching my back and grinding my core against his denim-clad erection.
He moans watching me, reaching out to slot his fingers around my ribcage, needing to touch me while I tease him. I cover his hands with my own as I lean down, guiding his hands to my breasts while I press delicate kitten licks over his collarbone. His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans and I rub against him with even more vigor, mewling with need.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Yes please,” I purr.
Suddenly he’s on top of me, devouring my surprised gasp with a feverish kiss that leaves me dizzy. His hands are rough against my skin, well worn down by years of abuse. I wonder how much I owe to the piano, and how much I owe to his time in the slammer for the gritty feel of his touch against my skin.
He sweeps my leggings and underwear off in one swift yank, then puts one ferocious hand between my legs. His kisses move down my neck to my breasts, yanking the cups of my bra down with his teeth only to draw small, tight circles around my nipples with the very tip of his tongue.
He scrapes his teeth against the hard bud as two thick fingers plunge inside of me, and I grip his shoulders so tight I’m worried I’ll draw blood. The sensations he draws forth are maddening, and when he curls his fingers inside of me and presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing precise, fast circles against the bundle of nerves from inside and out, I feel like I may break apart into a million shards of bliss.
My body quakes and I thrust into his touch, but all that gets me is pinned to the bed by his body weight. My knees jerk and spasm, struggling for traction as my mind struggles with how to react—it feels so good, I might never stop crying if he stops, and so intense I want to squirm out from under him at the same time.
“How’s that feel, Trouble?” he whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “You like it when I touch you like this?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes, please.”
He hums his approval, heavy lidded eyes watching the ecstasy contort my face into desperate expressions. Fire blooms from beneath the pads of his fingers, slowly tingling from my lower stomach into every nerve ending. I’m too big for my body, the pressure crushing me, suffocating me with desire until finally it cracks, splitting me from the inside. A scream boils free from somewhere low in my sternum, and I explode in an electric show of colors.
He doesn’t stop. Hell, he doesn’t even slow down to ride me through the first of what his actions promise will be many orgasms. If anything, my hypersensitivity makes him all the more determined to drive me wild. He slides his fingers all the way out, only to push them back in, deeper than before. My internal walls quiver around his fingers, clenching tightly without even trying.
“God, you feel so good,” he muses in a low growl. “I want you so bad. I need to fuck you until you can’t sit without thinking of me, Riley.”
I might die. But shit, I want it. I’ll die happy. I’m nodding my agreement even as he’s stripping bare before me, not a flicker of doubt in his eyes that I’ll let him do whatever he pleases with me right now. I reach out for him, wrapping my shaking fingers around his velvet shaft, stroking the delicate skin sheathing his marble hard cock.
He bites down hard on his full lips and rocks into my touch, heavy lidded eyes dark with lust. He grasps my wrist after a moment and pins my arms above my head, easily holding me down with one hand. “Easy, Trouble,” he warns with a smirk. “You’re not getting off again that easy.”
And then he’s slipping inside of me, filling me with his hard length until I’m sure I’ll shatter into a million pieces. I hook my legs around his waist and urge him to move deeper, faster, to fuck me for all he’s worth.
He kisses me again, slow and tender in contrast to his rough hip movements, and his deep groan rumbles through his body and into mine. He kisses me until I don’t know where he stops and I begin, until I’m lost in the sensations, drowning in all he gives me.
I’ll be content if I never resurface again.
I wake up with a kink in my neck to the sound of the Die Hard end credits playing in the living room. It’s been on repeat for the last eight hours or so, no doubt, rolling through the same shit over and over again. I’d been watching it alone, enjoying my pity party and stewing in my irritation at the Rourke household. Mrs. Rourke was shocked to see me bringing her sleeping baby home in the early morning light, but wasn’t nearly as angry as she should’ve been.
Her son is out stirring up shit, causing havoc for himself and his family all over again, and she just looked sad. She should’ve been furious. She should have changed the locks, kicked him out, dished out some tough love on his worthless ass.
But no. She merely sighed, thanked me for getting her daughter out of the line of fire, and sent me home with a pie crust promise it wouldn’t happen again.
I had just managed to calm down enough to doze off before Riley had just shown up—
Riley.
I jerk up slightly and feel the softest tightening of her grip on my arm. She’s still here, curled up under my arm with her head pillowed on my chest. One leg is curled up beneath her ass and the other has slipped over mine, her tiny foot dangling between my knees.
I settle back into the sheets and she snuggles even closer to me, hiding her face in my shoulder. Her lips part against my throat and I’m pretty sure my heart forgets how to function. It hiccups in my chest, trying to launch out my ribcage just to be closer to her.
“No,” she whines, fisting my shirt. “No, damn it.”
“Trouble?” I ask, worried she’s having a nightmare.
She growls—literally, growls against my neck. “Awake,” she grumbles. “I’m awake. No.”
I chuckle at her, and her body stiffens. She withdraws from me slowly, her tired eyes wide with surprise at her surroundings. Her head turns toward the window, and her eyes eventually follow suit. She swallows. “I, uh,” she says. “I think I fell asleep.”
“Clearly,” I say. She shoots a glare at me, but her mouth curls up at the edges. “If it helps, I fell asleep, too.”
“Oh, clearly,” she quips. She shakes her head at me and pinches the bridge of her nose, releasing a steadying breath. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get a watch, I think.”
“What for? So you can pick that off with your teeth, too?” she teases in a low voice. She peeks up at me through those long, spider leg eyelashes, and I bite the inside of my cheek, so I don’t maul her. Fuck me, I just had her in every way I’d been fantasizing about and all I want is to do it all over again. I want it bad.
“You say that like you wouldn’t beg for it,” I say back.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She stands from the bed and stretches, testing her legs before walking out of the room to get her phone. Her thighs stay close together and while she tries to pull off a strut, it’s evident I fucked her up. My cock hardens in response to the sight and I bite down hard on my tongue, so I don’t groan.
I hope she realizes I’m not gonna be able to keep my pants on around her ever again now.
I follow her to the kitchen, finding her bent over the counter yanking on her own hair as she flips through her messages. I press against her back, letting my semi slip between her legs and rub against her bruised core. She hisses through her teeth and drops her head, and I catch a few of the dozens of messages she’s received in the last two hours.
Carly: Where the hell are you?
Dad: Dinner tonight?
Cheyenne: You didn’t actually go see him, did you?
Carly: Riley.
Cheyenne: lol e
w
Dad: Where are you?
“Quit it.” Riley lets out a trembling breath and pushes herself up slightly, her back arched off the cool countertop. “I’m trying to think.”
“Of?” I ask. There’s an edge to my voice that’s not associated with my desire to fuck her stupid again, and I can’t help but wonder if she notices it.
“What to tell my friends,” she grits. “And my dad, about what I’ve been doing all day.”
“Me,” I answer for her. She snorts, and I lean down to press a kiss between her shoulder blades. “What’s funny? It’s the truth.”
“I can’t tell them that,” she says.
And that’s why I’m uncomfortable. “Because?”
She looks back at me over her shoulder and shakes her head. “It’s just a load of drama I don’t want.”
I shouldn’t be as offended as I am, but it doesn’t stop the hurt from seeping into my voice. “What happened to you’re going to fight for this?”
Her face flushes and horror fills her eyes. She turns and grabs my waist before I can walk away, pushing up on her toes to catch my mouth with hers. My anger slowly dissolves under the care, and I hate myself for how easily she can distract me.
“I am going to fight for this,” she says. “I just...have to be careful about how.”
I keep my eyes closed for a moment, trying to digest her words without throwing them back up. The first step would be telling her dad, wouldn’t it? At least dispel the idea I’m some fucking random driver and she doesn’t know me at all.
I feel guilty pushing for it, though, so I just nod and smile for her. “Wanna grab something to eat with me before you head out?”
She nods, unfazed that I’m kicking her out. I already knew she wouldn’t stay the minute she saw those messages. She picks her phone up and heads back to the bedroom to fetch her clothes. I follow and pull on a clean shirt and sweats, and her phone goes off twice as she’s fixing her hair in the mirror. Carly, then her dad. I sneak another peek, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
Riley: I’m with Linc, told Dad I’m with you. Don’t tell Cheyenne.
Carly: Ugh.
Riley: Stfu. Please?
Carly: I will, I will. You sure he’s a good guy, Ri?
The notification banner from her dad reads: Love you, star girl. Be safe.
I catch Riley glancing at me to see if I saw the messages, and I pretend I didn’t by winking at her. My chest is tight, anxiety and hurt muddying my senses.
This girl is stealing my heart and breaking it at the exact same time. And I can’t decide whether to run for cover or let her destroy me.
The restaurant is packed. It’s a little hole in the wall Japanese joint that only the locals know about, open late and serving some of the best Asian food you can find in the state. The hostess takes us to the sushi bar, where the chefs put on a show and hand pull ramen noodles, while others are prepping sushi right in front of the patrons.
A lady already sat, devouring a hand roll and snickering obnoxiously with her friend, clutches her purse and puts it on the opposite side of her lap when Riley and I sit next to her.
I turn my body so my back is to the lady, and my focus is on Riley. She didn’t see it happen, and I’m not about to point it out. I reach for her hand, and she takes it, but brings them under the bar to rest on her knee. She glances around, like she’s making sure no one she knows is here, no one will see us.
My stomach twists again. I ignore it.
The waitress comes between us to fill Riley’s water glass and addresses just her for her order. In the middle of it, Riley glances at me and smirks. “It’s spicy, but I’d live off it if I could,” she says about her soup selection.
“Oh,” the waitress says, surprise clear in her wide hazel eyes. “Are you two here together?”
I nod, and Riley squints at her. “Yes,” I answer.
“I’m sorry,” she laughs. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
She fills my water glass too, finally, as Riley continues to stare at her. I order the same ramen dish Riley ordered, and our flushed waitress scampers away before she can humiliate herself any further.
“That was weird,” Riley grumbles, bringing herself closer to me. I shrug in response, and she tilts her head. “You don’t think so?”
“I’m used to it.”
“Rude wait staff?” she asks incredulously. She sighs. “You’re too nice. You are allowed to complain to management, you know.”
I grin a little, sad, but trying not to show how much it bugs me. “Look around the room,” I say. “She’s probably surprised I’m even here.”
Riley does as I suggest, and with the new perspective. Most of the people here are white, with a handful of Asians peppering the place. I’m the only black dude in the building, including the employees. “Oh,” Riley grunts. “That’s ridiculous, it shouldn’t matter.”
“But it does,” I say aloud.
She shakes her head, her frustration clear in her eyes. But even when the service is continuously tipped in her favor—when her food comes out first, her water is filled more, the waitress touches her shoulder and giggles with her while she barely acknowledges my presence, Riley doesn’t complain on my behalf like I did for hers at the diner when Shona copped an attitude.
Riley doesn’t say a damn word.
“Alright. Spill. Tell me everything.”
The only proper way to convince Carly to do anything was to offer something in return. In this case, it was convincing her to lie to Cheyenne and my father about where I was all day in exchange for all the gritty details about Lincoln.
“Hello to you, too,” I grunt as I walk past her to get in line for coffee. I’ll need seventeen gallons of it to get through this, I already know. There’s a reason I’m sitting on the bomb news of Mom and my brother. I’d never hear the end of it. It’s easier to suffer that news alone.
“No time for formalities!” She grabs her bag and walks with me. “What’s going on with you and him?”
I let out a deep sigh and rub my temples with my fingertips. What is going on with us? “I guess we’re dating,” I offer.
She stares at me. “You guess...”
“What am I supposed to do with him, Car?” I ask. “I mean... I really like him. Like, really like him. But...”
“But what?” she asks. “He’s a big scary black dude?” I sneer at her, but she shakes her head. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. You’d have brought him home and flaunted him in front of everybody if he weren’t.”
I flinch in spite of myself. She’s right, I’d feel better if he was white—as sick as it makes me to admit—but I have reason for this. More so now that my paranoia has been proven. My brother left the state to keep his girl and his child safe from my father’s bigotry. I don’t have that kind of luxury yet.
Carly is just as bad as I am and we both know it. She’s been in my life for everything, so in spite of her preaching, I know how she really feels. I still remember cruising through the mountains with her, stuttering along to the hip hop station and going off on what scum men are.
A particularly offensive, sexist beat came on and we raged together about what a horrible human being the rapper was. Only when we searched him and found him to be a white guy, both of us could magically justify his words as acceptable dirty talk.
That’s fucked up. But we don’t talk about it. Ever.
I jam my straw into the caramel concoction and gulp until the aching brain freeze distracts me from my own bullshit. It really is like retraining my brain all over again, to acknowledge the way people treat me and the way I look at other people—and the tragic part is, I didn’t even notice I was learning how to view people as I grew up.
“So we had sex,” I say abruptly, knowing that will get her mind off the race bit.
“No shit!” Carly cheers. “Is it true? The you-never-go-back bit?”
Or not.
I’ve seen exactly one black guy naked, how the fuck should I know? �
��He’s quite impressive,” I giggle. “And he knows his way around a woman.”
Carly sighs. “Rumor has it they get a lot of experience.”
I stare at her for a long moment. I open my mouth to shakily call her out and ask what that even means, and a shrill voice behind me instead asks, “What’re we talking about?”
Cheyenne pushes me closer to the window to slide in the booth beside me. I glare daggers at Carly, but she looks as surprised as I am. “How’d you even know we were here?”
“Your location is on.” Cheyenne gestures to Carly’s phone, and Carly flushes deep red and rushes to check Chey’s facts. “So, again. What are we talking about?”
I drop my head in my hand and continue sipping my drink. Paris throws herself into the booth next to Carly and gives my humiliated friend a hug. Based on the horror on her face, I believe she didn’t arrange this to be more than the two of us, but I’m being petty about it anyway. “My boyfriend,” I bite.
Cheyenne blinks. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”
“Since when do you care?” I ask.
Paris taps my calf with her shoe under the table. “Who is he?” she asks, curious and excited for me, unlike my other buddies.
“He’s not that guy from the party, is he?” Cheyenne asks. When I don’t respond, she whimpers and wraps her arm around me. “Honey, you could do so much better.”
“Meaning what?” I snap. This is not the coffee date I wanted. I want to sit with Carly, my most like-minded girl, and talk this out. I want to be able to express my narrow-minded concerns without one friend condemning me and some idiot making it a million times worse.
“I’m just saying, girl, if you weren’t ashamed of him, he’d be around more.” Cheyenne shrugs. “I get it. I have a black cousin.”
That did not really just fall out of her mouth, did it?
“He’s a black guy, and?” Paris says. “What’s the problem?”
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