by Grace, Hazel
We’ve been playing this game long enough, Rora and I, pushing the limits. Lev’s lead at the club came through, and we got the address of the Queen of the South’s daughter, Victoria. It matched to the Victoria in Milford. Question was, why would a big-league prostitution ringer have a daughter who lived in the sticks of Tennessee. Doesn’t make sense to me. So, Beast is digging deeper into the club. Who dishes out the payroll and if the Queen and Victoria possibly had a falling out.
“I’d never work if I had a car like this,” Rora announces with her hand out the window. After our third race, I didn’t stop at the finish line to turn around, telling Colt I was leaving and to help Flynn and Rosco pick up the winnings from our races. I had nowhere in-particular to go, just to spend a little bit more of my slow fixation with the beauty beside me.
“What’s beneficial for me is that I get to work on them all day,” I reply.
“You lucked out.”
I peek over at her. “You don’t like your bakery?”
She shrugs and looks out the window at the grass-covered fields illuminated by the moonlight. “I do, it’s just a tad bit more stressful than I anticipated. I don’t feel like my business partner and I are throwing in the same amount of work into it. While I obsess over recipes, she’s on dates. While I’m planning the newest dessert to offer as a special of the day, she’s at the club.”
“Why don’t you date?” I blurt, immediately groaning inwardly. I don’t want her to think I would settle down to be her boyfriend.
“You want the honest answer?”
“Always the honest answer.”
She focuses on me, strands of her brown hair blowing in the air from the open car window. “That works both ways, you know.”
I flex my hands on the steering wheel, soaking in the ambience of the car’s exhaust vibrating through my hands. I’m not comfortable with being open, not after I was convicted from taking out Andrew to save Lev, Isla, and I. No one listened nor cared, looking at me like I was the devil’s spawn who drowned my father because I was fucked up in the head.
Rora’s hand finds mine, and she wraps her fingers around it. “I’m not going to push if it makes you uncomfortable. I know how it feels.” Her hand starts to leave mine, but I clasp on to it.
Her touch brings me some sort of ceasefire in my head. My thoughts don’t feel so muddled and scattered. She’s the calm after a hurricane, and I feel more myself, which I haven’t in years, trying to keep the wear of prison off me. I served my time and wanted somewhat of my life back but, when Isla was taken away, revenge was the only thing I could see until now.
“Don’t feel so inclined to not touch me, Rora,” I tell her, keeping my attention on the moon-lit road ahead. She doesn’t respond, just turns her head back toward the window. I know that I’m not the only one with issues. While I seek revenge, she seeks to be able to trust the world again. She has faith while I have limited amount of patience and a distrust toward everyone, especially cops. Isla is just a file on a desk, a case to eventually solve. And by that time, who the fuck knows where the Queen will be at that time. Hopefully six feet under with my bullet in her head.
I gently brush my thumb along her skin, back and forth, the rhythmic motion passive yet nerve-wracking. My brain settles while my cock twitches at the contact from her skin. It was that high again, my addiction I was latching to. One that was unique and exclusive to me.
The fact that she didn’t linger long with me, touching, feeling, expressing, irritated me. And I have no logical explanation as to why because I’ve sworn her off. And yet, here I am, in a car with her, cruising around and enjoying the night.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.
Flynn: Hey. The kid is with the mother. Do you want me to pick him up?
Me: Not yet. We’ll schedule daycare tomorrow. Thanks bud.
Translation: Raphael is with the Queen and Flynn found his address. Do you want me to take him out?
I contemplated for a millisecond to tell Rora that I have to take her home but quickly decided not to. Right now, I just wanted to be.
Here.
In this moment.
Because God knows how many more I’ll have with her after this Victoria shit.
“Come here,” I say, breaking through the silence. Rora turns her head toward me, and I give a gentle tug on her hand. I can see the hesitation, she knows. I know, I’m not the man for her. But she could be the woman for me.
“For what?” she counters.
“Because I asked you to.”
“Why are we out here?”
Yeah, why are we out here when you know fucking better.
I squeeze her hand instead. “Why not?” She nods, like I answered an alternative question she just had. “Rora, what’s up?”
She scoots closer to me, but I have the feeling it’s not because she wants to. It’s because she’s trying to prove a point to either herself or me. And what it is, I have no clue.
“Nothing. It’s so nice out, I figured you would have a million things to do.”
I reach my hand around her waist and pull her to me. She smells like flowers or some shit, but it’s perfect. “You referring to me doing Mia? Or some other chick?”
Rora crosses her legs. “Um, no. That’s seriously none of my business.”
“Then why’d you walk away?” I challenge.
“Because I don’t do whiny bitches,” she retorts, hugging herself.
“Are you saying I’m a whiny bitch?”
Rora chuckles. “If the shoe fits.” My fingers graze the side of her stomach, and then I start to tickle her. Rora squirms and laughs, trying to brush my hand away from her, but I keep dodging, trying to land anywhere I can on her body.
“Quit it, you’re driving,” she chortles, swatting some more at me. Turning my steering wheel to the right, I park on the side of the road. We haven’t seen a car in over thirty minutes, and I don’t expect to see any now, plus it’s late. No one is going to side swipe my car being on the shoulder.
Throwing the car in park, I keep the headlights on, just in case, even though the moon is bright, and you’d have to be blind and fucking stupid to not see my car. With access to both my hands, I turn my body to face her, using both to tickle her, any excuse to touch her. Rora hasn’t stopped laughing and squirming, which makes my cock harden just seeing how cute and innocent she is in this moment.
I roam her sides, her stomach, turn her body so her left leg bends on the seat so I can have more entry to what I really want.
“Wyatt,” Rora barks. “You can stop now.” But she’s still laughing, the sweetest sound besides her moans.
I lean toward her, making her fall back on her hands. “I don’t want to stop,” I murmur close to her. One of my hands trail up her inner thigh, and I watch her swallow.
“We should get back,” she retorts. “It’s getting late.”
“Do you have a curfew?” I return, rising higher up her skin.
“Smart ass.”
“Rugged.”
Rora tsked. “That’s only when you’re fucking me.” My dick spasms in my boxers, my body lunges on hers until we’re clothing to clothing, chest against chest.
I growl. “Fuck, but I do want to fuck you. Soft and easy, just because we didn’t get to the first time. Then hard and senseless because I start to lose control with you.” Her hand comes up to touch me, but she pulls back. “Why do you keep doing that?”
“To keep the emotion out of it.”
I can feel my heart drop. “Are you scared to feel something for me?”
“No,” she deadpans. “It’s you that’s scared to feel something for me.”
I brush her hair away from her face. “I’m not in the place for someone right now.”
“I’m not either.”
“You should be,” I tell her honestly. “Don’t let that dickhead, Jerry, run your shit.”
“Until he’s gone, I’m not going to let another man fall victim to his torture or
schemes. Until I’m safe and sound, no one else will be.” She inhales a deep breath. “Which is why I don’t think we should continue...whatever this is.”
“It’s cute that you are looking out for me, but trust me, I can hold my own.”
“Whatever that means, that’s great. But I don’t want to worry about it. With you or anyone else.”
“You must not like Noah very much than,” I concede.
“I do like him. He’s sweet and funny.”
“But...”
“Life is too complicated right now. I need to take care of Jerry and move on. You get it, right?”
I do, I get it completely.
But my dick doesn’t at all.
I latch my lips to hers, lowering her down to the bench seat, and she immediately molds her body to mine. “Yeah, I get it, baby,” I mutter against her mouth.
She places her hand on my cheek and breaks from me. “You’re distracting me.”
“I know.” Another kiss.
“It’s not going to work.”
I bite her lower lip gently. “You sure?” Her body rubs against mine.
“Yes,” she groans, hardening my cock even more than I thought possible.
“Damn, Rora, I want you to fucking beg me now.”
She smiles. “Was that hard for you? I didn’t think you’d do it honestly.”
I shake my head. “Not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”
“Really? That’s surprising.”
“Yeah, it was for me too.” I find her lips again, and she strokes my legs with her shoe.
I feel like I’m in high school again with our clothes on, rubbing along each other. Rora tugs at my T-shirt, and I oblige her by pulling it over my head. Her fingers find my chest, tracing lines along it as though she is reading me like a map.
“Your turn,” I tell her, towing the fabric of her shirt over her stomach. She lifts her hands over her head like a little child, which makes me smile. I fling it somewhere in the car while her fingers thread through my hair.
“Can I?” she asks shyly.
So, here’s where I become soft. This is where I start realizing that this girl has some voodoo magic on me or some shit. My hair stays up all the time. I don’t need my hair pulled like a bitch while fucking or the soft caresses on my scalp. Thing is, when I nod my head, she smiles. A fucking gesture that is demolishing every single fucking rule I set in place. I’m breaking my own shit. I’m going against myself and my plan. I’m choosing her over everything I set in place before her.
When my long hair cascades down my shoulders, she reaches for the zipper of my pants. “I want the real thing,” she informs me. “Just fucking.”
I clench my jaw. “I think you’re more than just fucking to me at this point.”
She starts undoing my jean button, looking at my tattooed chest. “How’s that?” Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing, but I want her to hear me.
“Rora,” I rumble.
Her eyes lock onto mine. “I don’t need saving. I just need a distraction. You’re a distraction from my life.” Slanting my body toward her, our chests meet. My elbows enclose around her head.
“Are you fucking using me, Rora?” I marvel. “Is this how the other women feel when I don’t call them back for round two?” She just raises a brow at me, unamused. “It’s a fight to keep emotions out of physical contact. More so women than men.”
Rora rolls her eyes. “Ah, yes, men are such emotionless, detached creatures. Which is good for me.”
She leans up to kiss me, but I lean out of reach. “Hold on now, I’m not used to being used here.” My head is yanked down as her lips clash on mine, her hand rubbing my length.
Fucking little cheater.
“Shut the fuck up,” she breathes near my lips. My jeans are yanked down over my hips as she starts fumbling for hers. I like bossy Aurora, the spunk and the fire that smolders within her.
Fighting the urge to lose my self-control, I’m curious, wanting to learn the animal that lives inside the beauty of this woman. The lace of her bra teases my chest as she tugs at her leggings, summoning me to tear them in half, but I keep my hands planted.
“Move,” she demands. Pushing myself aside, she pulls her legs from her black leggings and sits up. Getting on her knees, she motions toward the seat. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, rearranging my body to follow her instruction. My lungs constrict when she straddles my legs in her black panties and bra. Her ivory skin the perfect contrast to her attire with her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. I’ve never been starstruck nor speechless around the opposite sex, but if Rora knew the power she currently had over me, I’d be shit out of luck.
“We have a problem,” she states, gazing down at me with her blue ocean-filled eyes.
My mouth twitches. “Really? I’m fucking great right now.”
“Your pants are still on.” She retreats off me, to my disappointment, and I pull my ass off the leather seat to pull the rest of my jeans down. Before I can dispose of them from my ankles, her lips are on my junk.
Yes, my dick.
My cock.
My fucking Johnson. This woman exploited no time to take what she wanted, and now my jaw has dropped in pleasant surprise. Her tongue performed its magic, persistent on having me blow my load down her throat.
And we’d get to that. It was like a wet dream to come in her sexy ass mouth, but I was drugged up on wanting her pussy and hearing her soft moans escape her lips. Rora’s hand pumps me steadily, and I groan in response, watching her head bob up and down in my lap.
“Fuck,” I choke out, touching her silky tresses. She hums in response, and God, this woman is going to be the death of me. Drawing her lips from my cock, she meets my eyes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her curvy legs astride my lap again, and my dick jolts in response.
Grasping the side of her face, I reunite with her plush lips, engulfed with her weight and chest compressed on mine. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” I mutter in her lips. She shakes her head, sneaking her tongue in my mouth.
I’m about to tell her to something else, but I completely forget when her pussy slides down on my cock. My head rolls back, hitting the seat, as she begins to ride me mercilessly. I’m sated, happy to die right now while Rora’s fingers dig into my shoulders. I draw my head up to watch her. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back a little with her hefty tits bouncing in my face. Quickly, I clasp the back of her bra, undoing the hooks to release those pretty mounds.
They spill from her, nipples hard and inviting, and I help myself to them. Licking her buds, Rora moans, squeezing my shoulders harder in encouragement.
“Yes, Rugged,” she puffs. I start thrusting into her, slowing her down. I want this to last a moment longer. For her to remember me when she moves on and finds a good man that can give her what she needs. It’s not me, not now anyways. And as much as I don’t want to admit it in this moment, he’s one lucky son of a bitch.
“You feel amazing,” I tell her against her breast. She lifts my head to kiss me, and I soak all of her softness in. Her moans and mine mix together in the most erotic and subjective fuck that I’ve ever had. My fingers are habituated to her body, searing every inch to memory. Because soon the blackness will come, the war impending itself closer, and no one will be able to guarantee Lev and I coming out alive.
It’s Fourth of July weekend, and I closed the bakery early on Saturday. Paige left early to go out with a guy named Stefan or Stephen. I gave up on the number of dates she’s been on over the last few weeks. Mainly because I’ve been in this odd funk lately, and I know why. It’s just that I’m in denial to think it through or say it out loud to myself.
It’s been eleven days since Wyatt and I fucked in his Chevelle. Eleven days where I’ve gone from sheer happy to finally getting screwed twice in one month to mopey. And mopey and I don’t mix very well apparently. My phone was attached to my ass for three days straight, waiting for a
text, a call, a fucking smoke signal—nodda.
Nodda damn thing.
So, my new sidekick, mopey, showed up, and we’ve been blowing off Noah’s text messages with lame excuses on why we can’t see him, pints of cookie dough ice cream, and telling ourselves that we knew this would happen.
Knew it.
No newsflash.
No neon lights. Knew it from day freaking one, that Wyatt was going to be a straight pain in my living ass. But, with all that said, the positives are that I’ve never felt so liberated and alive while being with him. I feel sexy, pretty, and wanted but only on Wyatt’s time. After day four, I did receive a text from him, asking me how I was and what I was wearing, but once my hopes went skyward, the text messages stopped.
So, mopey and I have been focusing on Meghan’s upcoming wedding cake. She’s decided on fruit themes—strawberry, mango, lemon, and raspberry. Fucking disgusting but whatever, money is money.
Who the hell am I to make good decisions?
Flicking on my TV, I plop on my sectional, throwing my cell on the other side of the couch. My Netflix pops on, and I scroll through the shows, contemplating on googling garages in town. It’s a dangerous idea, again been making some bad choices here, but I never made them when I was younger and what am I going to tell my kids when they get older? That I was a goody two shoes who did nothing fun or exciting, because that’s the road I’m leading right now.
Reaching for my phone, I Google Pop’s Mechanic Shop. Taking a deep breath, I go into my room, pulling out a pair of floral shorts and white tee that shows a little of my stomach. I clasp a gold necklace to add some color to the shirt and check the mirror to examine my hair. It’s not my thick locks that make me cringe but the bags under my eyes. Quickly, I apply some makeup, slide in my flip flops, and pray to God I don’t make a giant asshole out of myself.
___
Pop’s is old school, like it hasn’t been painted in well over a decade, because I can see the last coat of white in some places. The sign for Pop’s is rusted with vintage-style writing, but the place is packed with cars, just no people. It makes sense since it’s the holiday weekend and Delpa County is having a Fourth of July fair.
