Bad Boy Boxset

by JD Hawkins

  I step up behind her, hands moving around her front, and she falls back onto me, that glossy hair under my chin, her hands folding back on mine. We stay like that for a minute, entering that place where we don’t need to say anything, don’t need to explain or comment, where even words would destroy the utter perfection of this closeness, this moment.

  Well…all but a few words.

  I let her go so I can turn her to face me, put my hand on her cheek.

  “I need to say something.” I take a deep breath. “I know I fucked up. The life I’ve lead hasn’t been the best practice for this kind of thing. But the truth is…I’ve never wanted anyone as much as you. And I’ve never felt the way I do, about anyone else but you.” I search her eyes, but I can’t tell how she’s taking this. “I know I’m not perfect, and I’m not right all the time—but if you want to be with me, I promise you that I will never stop trying to make you as happy as I can. I’ve always loved you, and I know I always will.”

  She watches me, face open and vulnerable, fingers tenderly running down my shirt front. The moments seem to stretch out achingly, and I can see behind those big eyes that she’s struggling to respond, to cross that boundary we won’t be able to come back from, the boundary we spent all our lives behind. I can’t blame her—neither of us knows what’s on the other side.

  “Say something,” I whisper.

  “I love you too, Wyatt,” she says finally. She gulps, and I see her eyes glisten in the moonlight. Emotion bringing her to the verge of emotional overload. “You know that.”

  I bring my face nearer to hers, foreheads touching, and close my eyes to take in the intimacy of her scent, the music of her voice, her breath brushing against my lips.

  “And I want to be with you, too,” she whispers. “I know we can make it work. We will make it work. Whatever it takes.”

  The kiss feels like the first time all over again. Her lips ripe and soft, her mouth hot and wet, teasing my tongue inside it. I squeeze her against me, as if wanting to experience every inch of her, to engulf myself in her beauty, bury myself in her perfection.

  As tender as we began, as fragile and delicately as we spoke to each other, it isn’t long before the taste of her brings spiky, determined lust flooding into my veins. The curve of her waist under my hands and the push of her breasts against my chest focusing all my desire into a physical hardness, a need to prove how much I love her beyond words, in the language of skin on skin.

  I pull back to sweep her legs with my arm, picking her up and carrying her back into the room, her lips hot and insistent on my neck all the way. I lay her on the bed and drop myself beside her, my eyes and hands following the curves of her legs, tugging up the hem of her dress until my fingers find the trembling skin of her midriff. She wriggles under my touch, softly moaning as she grabs at my hair.

  “Wyatt…” she whispers softly as she pulls my head to hers. I kiss her once more, hand working the zipper at the back of her dress, letting her devour and bite my lips, tongues fighting and slipping around each other.

  I push the dress off her shoulders and slide it down off her body, then put my hands on her shivering, sensitive skin, fingers tracing all the perfect lines of her front, her sides. She arches and curls under my touch, responsive and delicate, completely guided by sensation now, a slave to my touch. Her head leaning back to moan at the ceiling, a moan that sounds imploring, begging me for mercy.

  I pull back, standing on the edge of the bed to whip off my blazer and undo my shirt, all the while Melina’s watching me, breasts swelling in her bra with deep, hurried breaths, eyes lidded, intoxicated by the moment. She sits up, unhooks her bra and tosses it aside. Naked, I sidle low on the bed, between her perfect thighs, pressing her back into the pillows so I can kiss her breasts, trailing my mouth down her torso, past her navel.

  She lets out a gasp as I pull her panties down with rough hands, trailing gentle bites and soft sucks down her hips, the muscles of her thighs, her elegant calves. Then, slowly, I make the journey back up, tongue drawing patterns up her tensing legs, between the soft insides of her thighs, toward the irresistible sweetness of her pussy.

  Her hands fist the sheets as she starts to whimper, and I bring my lips close to her clit, softly brushing against it, blowing cool air to make her responsive to every touch. I tease her with quick flicks of my tongue until she’s cursing under her breath, gasping out half-words.

  “Fuck…” she moans. “More.”

  When my lips finally wrap around her clit she grabs the back of my head and thrusts against my face, hissing through clenched teeth, but she still wants more. She shifts position, reaching across the bed to pull my cock toward her mouth, adjusting her thighs on either side of my head.

  I grab her asscheeks and pull her pussy hard onto my face, drawing my tongue from her clit down to her walls and back again, even as she traces her own tongue from the head of my cock to my balls and back again.

  I lose myself tongue-fucking her, stroking inside her pussy, lapping at her clit, my cock throbbing in her sucking mouth, her thighs on my cheeks, her soft body pressing down on me. Giving as much of myself as possible and taking everything I can, ravenous for her. We grab at each other, holding tight, winding around each other like a knot we’ll never untangle, unsure anymore of where one ends and the other begins.

  She hums and moans with my cock deep in her throat, the vibrations sending shocks of lust through me. I nuzzle and push my tongue around her walls, exploring her sensitivities, submerging myself in her wet heat, pulling her further onto my tongue with assertive hands that smack and stroke in turn. We work each other into a frenzy, all sweat and heat, limbs tensing and flexing as we push and pull each other toward the brink.

  Drunk on the taste of her, crazed with desire, I finally push her away, roll her over onto her back and reach for my discarded pants. After I roll the condom on I kneel on the bed, stalking toward her with hungry intent. I take one of her ankles and lift it onto my shoulder, then move myself over her, the head of my cock teasing her entrance.

  “Wyatt…” she pleads, her hand hooking around my neck, “don’t make me wait.”

  I let her pull my mouth down to hers, her body folding as the ankle on my shoulder opens her up, the tip of my cock pressing against her wetness. She moans as I enter, pushing deep inside, fitting into her like only we belong. She’s tight and slick and I swing my hips, searching inside of her while I watch expressions of rapture play across her face—so expressive and direct now, moaning and panting every aspect of her pleasure.

  I fuck her to unleash those tiny spaces inside of her, all the little joys and thrills she keeps hidden behind that shy smile. I fuck her in a way that makes her body hum and tremble with every thrust, to show her she’s the only one I ever cared about. I fuck her with a cock and a purpose harder than it ever was, as if to show her exactly what she means to me. I fuck her the way only a man who’s loved her all his life can.

  Her cries ring out, driving me wild with every new pitch. I’m in a frenzy now, the hypnotic undulation of her breasts too much, the pulsing squeeze of her walls around me feeling too good for me to slow my pace. My body takes over and I ram into her deeper, harder, incapable of control. I fuck her over the edge of bliss, her moans catching in her throat, mouth falling open in a silent scream as her pussy tightens in hot, wet convulsions at the same time I come in a burning rush of relief inside of her. Together again.

  I fall beside her, both of us collapsing like washed-up castaways on the messy sheets, our slick bodies ultra-sensitive to the breeze that still trickles through the open glass doors. Half my face pressed into the pillow, I watch the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing slows, the way her eyes blink softly, the afterglow fading like a tide going out.

  She turns to face me, and I reach out to place a hand on her cheek, thumb brushing across her lips as they form a dreamy smile.

  Groggily, she murmurs, “No man’s ever fucked me like that before.”

&n
bsp; Without smiling, I say, “No man’s ever loved you like me before.”

  23

  Melina

  It’s been a week since I lay on that New York City hotel bed with Wyatt, bodies cooling in the moonlight pouring in through the picture windows. Just one week, but it may as well have been a lifetime—an entirely different kind of life.

  We had breakfast at the hotel before getting on a plane back to L.A., and by the time we landed, my phone had several missed calls and texts from numbers I didn’t recognize.

  They’ve kept on coming throughout the day, and the messages turn out to be from the assistants and secretaries of people who were at the gallery show, trying to buy prints of my images, see more of my portfolio, or inquire about booking me. Still reeling and completely unused to that kind of attention, I mumble clumsily and try to figure it out on the fly, until Wyatt decides to take over and arrange everything for me.

  It’s a good thing he does, because after a couple days back in L.A. I’m already working twenty-four seven on new projects. A record label hooks me up with a new band that needs a photoshoot for their first album, I spend another day shooting at the skate park for a famous X-Gamer’s new clothing line, and I go to several meetings at a foodie magazine’s head office to talk about joining a journalist on a trip to South America.

  The whole experience is so surreal and so new I go to bed every night feeling like I’ll wake up the next day and find out it was all a dream. Everything I’m doing eerily close to the way I once fantasized my life turning out, but a fantasy I’d long since given up on.

  Now I’m here, at a tattoo shop called Mandala, owned by that guy Teo who approached me last week at my show. It’s an incredible place, filled with incredible artists, lots of color, and a warm, familial vibe; it’s a fantastic place to shoot from the hip, a place where something is always going on. There’s a big, smiling guy with a Southern drawl named Ginger, who strikes silly poses for the camera any time he’s not working. An incredibly beautiful young woman named Kayla, all elegant limbs and earthy charm—she could easily be a model if she didn’t love doing tattoos so much. And then there’s Teo himself, who’s so photogenic I feel guilty he’s paying me for this.

  I hang around the place throughout the day, joking and sharing beers with them as an even more diverse and wild bunch of people come and go—getting just close enough to them that I can become invisible, taking shots of them at work and play that might be some of the best candids I’ve ever captured.

  Teo’s girlfriend Ash, who actually turns out to be his wife, shows up toward the evening. I catch a fantastic shot of them greeting each other with a kiss on the street.

  “Sorry,” I say meekly, when they notice me. “Couldn’t resist the shot.”

  Teo laughs and pulls Ash to his side.

  “It’s ok,” he says, then grins at her, “we’re used to people getting in our business.”

  “What’s with all the people showing up?” I ask, nodding at the fragmented crowd making its way toward the back.

  “Nobody told you?” Ash says. “We’ve got some bands playing. Old friends.”

  “You’re staying, right?” Teo asks. “Be some great pictures if you do.”

  I grin. “I’d love to. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Invite whoever you like,” Ash says. “The more the merrier.”

  I smile, one name immediately coming to mind.

  “I might just do that.”

  When Wyatt arrives the first band is already set up and playing in the parking lot. Big speakers laid out on a huge rug, a crowd of impossibly cool-looking people drinking and dancing already to the thrashing chords, drums that ring out into the L.A. sunset. I see him approach from a distance, weaving his way through the crowd. We catch eyes, and I take a few pictures of him as he walks toward me.

  He greets me like he always does, a kiss before words, as if he’s been years away and thought about me every second of it—even though we had breakfast in bed together just this morning.

  When we break apart, his arms still around me, I say, “Only you could pull off a suit at a block party.”

  He smiles and pulls at his lapel, as if noticing it anew.

  “Actually,” he says, “I was thinking I should cool it with the suits a little—start wearing something a little more laid back since I’m not in New York anymore.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to let yourself go as soon as I’ve got you,” I tease.

  Wyatt laughs, then says, “Swap the Mercedes for a sedan…a watch that isn’t so flashy…”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” I tell him, slapping him gently on the chest.

  “Where’s Winnie? Or Becca?” he asks, looking around.

  “They’re coming,” I assure him. “I wanted to speak to you first.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I was thinking…maybe we it’s time we tell them about us. Here. Now.”

  Wyatt eyes me carefully. “You don’t wanna wait for a game night or something? Tell the old folks as well?”

  I shrug dismissively.

  “No—to be honest, I think everyone pretty much knows already. Let’s just tell them. Low key. Besides, I don’t want to steal any thunder from Joe and Elise getting re-married.”

  Wyatt nods, rolling his eyes like he does whenever his parents are mentioned.

  “I still can’t believe that’s happening.”

  “You’re happy, right?”

  Wyatt thinks about it for a moment.

  “Yeah…” he says softly. “I am. I don’t know why—but I get it now. They really seem to work this time around. I’m glad they’re back together.” He brightens up a little and looks around once more at the buzzing people around us. “How was the work?”

  “Interesting…tiring…satisfying…” I say. “It was great. I feel like I got to the heart of what really makes the shop tick in these pictures, not just close-ups of tattoo art and needles. It’s the people and the whole vibe, you know? Teo thinks the photos are great. And Ash said…”

  Wyatt smiles at me, then interrupts me with another devastating kiss.

  “What was that for?” I say, once my feet are back on solid ground.

  “You are irresistible when you’re happy.”

  He takes my hand, and all I can do is smile.

  Winnie and Becca arrive together with Aiden and Cody a little while later, the four of them immediately caught up in the festival atmosphere of the gig.

  Wyatt and I keep our hands off each other when they first arrive, and the conversation quickly turns to how my photography career has gone stratospheric this past week—leaving me with a schedule that looks fully booked for the next three months. I keep the details brief about how it happened, glossing over the exhibit in New York and leaving out the part where Wyatt and I reconciled, though Cody has that knowing glint in his eye when I say that Wyatt helped, and I catch Winnie watching both of us with an ‘I told you so’ smirk on her face.

  During a quiet moment—as one band leaves and another sets up—deep into the night so that we’re all golden and stark beneath the street lamps, I shoot Wyatt a meaningful glance that tells him now is the moment.

  I’m sitting beside him on the short wall at the edge of the parking lot, Winnie to one side, the others standing in front of us. We’re all sipping beers and listening to Aiden ramble aimlessly for the sake of it.

  “…kinda dig this scene. I should get a tattoo myself—always wanted something to bring out my arms.”

  “Don’t you have one already?” Becca asks.

  “Yeah,” Cody says, “that chinchilla on your ass.”

  Some of us laugh as Aiden shakes his head, irritated.

  “That don’t count,” he says. “It was a bet I lost. Hey—maybe I should get it redone, you know? Turn it into a T-rex or a saber tooth tiger or something.”

  “Nah,” Winnie says, “you’re much more of a chinchilla than any of those.”

  Th
ere’s laughter, and as it fades, Wyatt seizes the moment.

  “Guys...I’ve got something I want to say.”

  The others look at him, already pointed and curious—it’s rare for Wyatt to demand people’s attention like that, even rarer for him to sound this serious about something.

  Before he says anything though, he looks at me. I look at him. His arm goes around my waist. He turns back to the others, ready to say it, to put it into words, but they’re already open-mouthed and shocked. Winnie’s already shrieking and jumping up and down, and Aiden’s already slapping Cody on the back like he’s celebrating a touchdown.

  “I told you, dude!” Aiden says to him.

  “I told you,” Cody shoots back with an eye-roll.

  “Finally!” Winnie says, in such a high pitch it makes me wince, grabbing me in a suffocating hug before I can even respond.

  “I am so happy for you guys,” Becca adds, as we stand up to hug everyone.

  “Wait a minute,” Aiden says, turning to Wyatt, his expression suddenly serious, “is that why you threw game night?”

  “Oh shut up, Aiden,” Becca says, slapping him on the shoulder and then beckoning us all back toward the band-watching crowd. “Let’s go dance.”

  Filled with giddiness and the electrified buzz we’re all sharing now, we merge into the crowd, splitting off to dance like idiots to the music. All six of us drunk and high from the sounds, the sights, the friends and the moment. All six of us realizing that what we have is special, that it’s unique. All six of us filled with love and a wild freedom tonight.

  But Wyatt and I especially. And as I let him twist and twirl me, as I shake my hair and shout into the noise with an ease I’ve rarely felt, as I fall against his chest and let him hold me there to kiss me tenderly, I don’t care about anything else but this moment. I don’t care about the struggles of the past, or the uncertainties of the future, because I know that everything we’ve been through together was worth it.

  We dance until our bodies are tired, until the night turns black around us, until the bands stop and we’re just sitting in the back of the tattoo shop in each other’s arms.