Braxx

by Cara Bristol

  Except, well, Anthony had been dealt a bad hand in the poker game of life. I could sacrifice a few hours between the sheets to brighten his sad little existence. We’d go for ice cream as planned—but I’d limit them to single scoops and urge them to lick fast.

  I glanced at Braxx, all muscle and smooth milk-chocolate-brown skin. Calorie-free. Lickable. Better than any ice cream. “We can’t disappoint Anthony. We’ll still have all evening,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it.

  His approving smile made my sacrifice worthwhile. Almost. Those full lips curving into a grin, and the glow in his crinkled dark eyes shot a hot zing to my girl parts, increasing the throb. “Thank you.” His look radiated pure heat. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Tight and close with lots of writhing and thrusting.

  We finished gathering our stuff then tromped across the sand to the parking lot. After loading up the trunk, we brushed ourselves off. He donned his shirt, and I pulled my sundress over my head. “Let’s get Anthony and get some ice cream.”

  * * * * *

  “He’s not here,” Minnie Maw, Anthony’s foster mother said through the screen door. A medium-sized mutt whined at her feet to be let out. Somewhere in the back of the house, kids screamed.

  “What do you mean he’s not here? Where is he?” I said.

  “He went to another foster home.”

  “What?” I glanced at Braxx. His expression was alarmed. “When did this happen?” I asked.

  “When the social worker came, it was to take him to another foster home.”

  “Where?” Braxx asked.

  “Children’s Services didn’t tell me. But I couldn’t tell you if I did know—it’s confidential.”

  “I’m his big brother!” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us Anthony was leaving when we called this morning?” I demanded.

  “They hadn’t told me! I assumed it was a regular visit.”

  “On a Sunday?” I glowered, but I blamed myself. I should have guessed there was more to the weekend visit than a simple check-in. Nobody in government worked on a Sunday unless there was an exceptional reason. “Do you have any idea why they moved him?” From what Anthony had said, her home had seemed like one of the better ones.

  “The limit is five foster kids, and they brought me someone else. Her last foster home didn’t work out. She’s high risk, and they often send me the difficult cases. Anthony is—was—my most well-adjusted child, so they moved him so I could take the little girl.”

  “So, he’s being punished for doing well?” I said, getting steamed. I felt sorry for the little girl, but did her situation have to affect Anthony?

  “It’s not punishment. He’s a great kid. He has a lot of potential. There are a lot of good, caring foster homes.”

  And there were a lot of not-so-good ones. Anthony did have potential—was Children’s Services trying to undermine that? Where was the service to children in Children’s Services? Children’s Disservices would have been a more accurate name. “This sucks!”

  “I’m sorry.” She spread her hands. “I didn’t want him to go, either, but I had no say-so.”

  “How can I locate him?” Braxx asked.

  “Maybe call his social worker. Hold on.” She disappeared into the house and then returned with a business card. “Here.” Holding the dog back with her foot, she cracked the screen door and passed it through.

  “Thanks.” I eyed the card, noticing the lack of a cell phone. Only the general Department of Children’s Services number was listed, which no one would answer on a weekend. Hell, it was unlikely anyone would answer on a weekday. But we had a name, anyway: Tyra Higgins, case manager. I handed the card to Braxx.

  From the back of the house, a crash sounded, followed by a wail. “I need to go,” Minnie Maw said. “Again, I’m sorry. Good luck.” She looked at Braxx. “Anthony worships you. I hope you can connect with him again.” She shut the front the door.

  Braxx already had his phone out and inputted Tyra’s number. He listened then held it away and punched a number. “Si necessita español, marque el dos. Para inglés marque el numero uno. For Spanish, dial two. For English dial number one.” I could hear the robotic voice.

  It took at least five minutes to wend through the menu system to Tyra’s voicemail, only to be told the office was closed and to leave a message. “My name is Braxx. I am Anthony Carillo’s Friend 2 Family big brother. I’m on his approved visitor list. I came to pick him up for our outing and found he’d been moved to a new foster home. Would you please call me and let me know where he is?” he said and left his phone number. Looking glum, he shoved his phone in his pocket.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, stifling an instinct to reassure him by planting an expectation he’d hear soon. If he heard from Tyra Higgins at all, it wouldn’t be soon. Overworked with more cases than she could juggle, she had more pressing matters than notifying a child’s big brother of his whereabouts. She could have fifty messages by the time she checked her voicemail in the morning.

  “We’ll call again on Monday,” I said. “If we have to, we’ll march down to Children’s Services in person.” I would confront Tyra if I had to stage a sit-in.

  “Anthony will think I didn’t bother to show up,” he said.

  “I’m sure he understands if he moved to a new home, you couldn’t find him.” Kids in the system got wise quick, but Anthony was six and a half. I hoped he would be okay. I hoped he knew we still cared, that we hadn’t abandoned him, that we would locate him. And we would, but damn the system!

  During the school year, Braxx could have rendezvoused with him on Monday morning, but class had let out for the summer a week ago. Would Anthony even attend the same school in the fall? I swallowed to clear the lump in my throat and touched Braxx’s elbow. “How about that ice cream?”

  He shook his head. “Not without Anthony.” He opened his arms. “I would like a hug though.”

  I stepped close to him and pressed my face to his chest. He held me tight, and, for a moment, we stood there, drawing comfort from each other. Anthony’s disappearance had hit me harder than I would have predicted.

  We will find him! I’ll get answers from the social worker if it’s the last thing I do!

  In my periphery, I caught a movement. I shifted my gaze to the house. Two sets of eyes, one human, one dog, peered at us through a gap in the curtains. I wiggled my fingers in hello, and the faces disappeared, leaving the curtains swaying, and a high-pitched voice yelling, “Minnie Maw, Minnie Maw! There’s people on the porch!”

  “We’d better leave,” I said. The foster mother had met me and knew Braxx pretty well, but it still looked weird for us to hang around.

  We separated and trudged to my car. We belted in, and I pulled away from the curb. “Where to now?” I asked. “Your place or mine?”

  “Either.” The corners of his mouth turned down. I’d never seen him look so defeated.

  “It’s going to be okay.” I squeezed his hand. “I promise. We’ll find him,” I said with more conviction than I’d had a short time ago. I would locate Anthony. We knew who his social worker was. We just had to wait until normal business hours to call. Besides, Children’s Services didn’t know who they were messing with.

  I steered my car through traffic and got on the freeway, heading for my place. He had eschewed ice cream, but he was probably unaware of the healing, restorative powers of a frozen concoction of fat and sugar. I kept a quart of chocolate walnut in my freezer for emergencies.

  Chapter Twelve

  Braxx

  We sat on the sofa eating ice cream direct from the tub, passing it between us. Ice cream did not solve the problem of locating Anthony, but it did make me feel a bit better.

  Nothing could happen until Monday, so, for now, there was ice cream—and the reassurance and support of my mate. I didn’t know the ins and outs of how Ear
th managed its affairs, so Holly’s assistance would be invaluable. Her concern for Anthony offered more evidence proving what a good mother she would be. Some people needed to learn how to be good parents; Holly seemed to be a natural.

  “You finish the rest.” I handed her the tub.

  She ate the last two spoonfuls. As she leaned over me to set the empty container on the coffee table, I breathed in her scent: warm female and strawberry shampoo. I suspected I also smelled like strawberries, but it was okay because the smell reminded me of her. We’d both been sticky and hot after the beach, so we’d showered before settling down with the ice cream. I’d put my leggings back on, but left off my shirt, which had become gritty with sand, and Holly donned fresh clothes, a pair of shorts and a stretchy tunic that molded to her breasts quite nicely.

  She pressed her lips to the corner of my mouth in a soft, lingering kiss then pulled away slowly. “You had ice cream on your face,” she said.

  “How about here?” I tapped the other side of my mouth.

  “Oops. Missed a spot.” She kissed me again.

  I slipped a hand under the weight of her damp hair and deepened the intimacy. Our lips parted, and our tongues turned ardent. Teasing caresses heated to fervent as desire kindled and flashed. The power of attraction could not be denied. We were greater together than we were apart.

  Her mouth hovered a breath away from mine. I felt her lips curve into a smile. “Maybe we ought to finish what we started at the beach,” she murmured.

  “Maybe we ought to.” I swept my gaze over the room in an exaggerated glance. “We have a room now.”

  She chuckled. “We even have a room with a bed.” She slipped off the sofa and tugged at my hand.

  I stood up then, following an odd impulse, bent and scooped her into my arms.

  “What are you doing?” she squealed.

  I headed toward the bed chamber next to the bathing room.

  “I can walk!” She wiggled her feet but curled her arms around my neck. “Why are you carrying me?”

  “Seemed like the thing to do.” I enjoyed carrying her, having the weight of her in my arms, although she was far from heavy. I could have borne twice her weight without much effort. In her bedroom, I set her on her feet but kept her close to me. She slid her palms up my bare chest.

  She nibbled her lip. “Obviously, you don’t need to use anything like a condom. I’m not going to get pregnant and—”

  I knew females had regular fertility cycles, but also that they sometimes miscalculated, and cycles could be thrown off. I couldn’t think of anything more joyful than her becoming pregnant.

  “And, I’m, uh, clean.”

  Both of us had showered. Why was cleanliness a cause for mention? “I’m clean, too,” I replied, a little confused.

  “I kind of figured you were since you’d never gone all the way before.”

  Where was I supposed to have gone, and what did that have to do with hygiene? I started to ask for an explanation, but she slipped away and pulled her tunic over her head, and questions evaporated. My horns and loins throbbed to a silent beat. She wore one of those breast harnesses, a see-through fabric patterned with flowers. I spied dusky beaded nipples through the material before she unhooked the harness and dropped it to the floor.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  I’d seen her breasts before because we’d kissed and explored each other fully, stopping short of consummation, but I doubted I’d ever tire of gazing upon her full, womanly mounds—or fondling them. Her breasts bounced as she shimmied out of her shorts and a female undergarment.

  She planted her hands on her hips, drew her brows together, and curled her lips into an amused smile. “Are you going to watch? Or are you going to get naked, too?”

  I shoved my short leggings down my hips. My erection stood at full attention. “Done.”

  “Oh no, you’re far from done, buddy. We haven’t gotten started yet.” She giggled. I smothered her laughter by meshing my mouth to hers. Our tongues met and twined in a passionate pantomime. She tasted like sweetness and sex, and she filled my senses with rightness and certainty. Our physical union would take us one step closer to a complete mating, a union of mind and spirit. Of life and purpose. No kitstep, this. A giant leap forward. Patience had been rewarded.

  I appreciated her different textures and shapes, the slight bumpiness of her vertebrae, the firm curve of her buttocks, the contrast of soft roundness of her luscious breasts with the pebbled hard tips, springy curls at the juncture of her thighs, and the hidden valleys and folds of her womanhood, slickened by desire.

  She was so much smaller than me, but her enthusiasm compensated. She dragged her palms over my chest and abdomen, pressing her finger pads into muscle. She stroked a teasing trail over the arrow of hair leading to my erection and then closed her fist around it.

  Heat coiled and snapped, and I sucked in a lungful of air. She stroked the shaft, her tiny hand moving up and down, causing my hips to rock.

  We dance-walked to the bed and collapsed on the mattress. Arms and legs tangled and twined. Our mouths meshed with searing heat, teeth clacked, and we smiled. I traced a delicate collarbone with my lips then nuzzled her throat where low moans vibrated. Her soft breasts overflowed my cupped hands as I rubbed her nipples then captured the taut buds in my mouth and sucked.

  She dug her fingers into my hair, caressing my horns, tightening the spirals of need. My stomach clenched, and my already hardened state grew firmer and heavier. I ached to complete our joining, but patience had proven to be the way to stir this female’s emotions. Greater pleasure could be ours if we enjoyed the journey instead of rushing to the destination.

  Even her curls were soft as they coiled around my fingers, before I slipped my hand between her thighs to caress dewy folds. I groaned at the wetness. Satisfaction filled my chest as she moaned and rocked her hips against my hand when I found the pearl of sensation and applied a gentle massage. “Why did we wait so long?” she moaned. “We should have done this sooner.”

  I agreed, but I would never voice that thought, and certainly not at this moment. Besides, what mattered was we were in sync. Whatever barriers she had against intimacy had tumbled down. How could I be anything but grateful?

  I kissed her. “We’re together now. That’s what counts,” I whispered in her ear.

  She raked her finger pads down my torso and lower, grasping my shaft with a firm touch. Without warning, she scooted down and took me in her mouth. I growled and grabbed the bedsheets as lightning shot through me. This we had not done. We had touched, we had petted, but to be engulfed in the wet heat…

  More. I craved more. Needed to bury myself. I pulled her away from me and kissed her hard, crushing her lips, thrusting my tongue in her mouth. With my knee, I nudged her thighs apart and guided my length to her entrance.

  Taking a breath, I pushed inside. She closed around me, hot, wet, tight. Complete. One. I groaned. My eyes closed automatically, and I snapped them open to seek her gaze. The same rapture coursing through me sizzled in her eyes. She smiled then, sweet, loving, and my chest almost split open from the painful joy of it.

  “I love you,” she said. Perspiration glistened on her temples, and damp tendrils curled around her cheeks. “And not just because you’re hot and sexy and know when not to say, ‘I-told-you-so’.”

  The Fates had indeed smiled upon me. “I love you, too, mate,” I said.

  We rocked together then, our thrusts in perfect timing and intensity. Slow then faster. Sweat burned as it trickled into my eyes, but nothing could dull the pleasure. She gasped, arching her neck, and then muscles that gripped grew tighter still before contracting in ripples around my shaft. I shoved my arms under her shoulders, holding her close, and buried my face against her damp throat. Sensation escalated and rolled like a wave of fire. My horns pulsed, my cock convulsed in orgasm, and my essence released.

  Past disappointments, the long frustrating wai
t to capture her attention fell away and dissipated like fog on a hot day. The trials had been worth this. Only the present, the rapturous joining remained. Physical sensation and emotion merged and filled me with penultimate satisfaction. Maybe she had miscalculated her cycle; perhaps our coupling would bless us with a kit. The thought skipped among the fractured pieces of my consciousness.

  Ecstasy shared and spent, we collapsed.

  I rolled onto my back and reached for her. She curled against my side, pillowing her head on my shoulder, resting her knee between my legs. Soft breasts pressed against my ribs. Her scent and that of our union drifted to my nose. For the longest time, the only sound was our breathing slowing. The mattress felt firm beneath my spine, the sheets bunched and damp. Overhead, a fan swished cool air over my heated body. Many tripta away, a flying machine roared across the sky, the distant hum filtering through the hut walls. Conversation was unnecessary; our union had spoken for us. Buoyed on a cloud of contentment, I floated.

  Plans formed out of the drift, assumed shape and urgency. No more kitsteps. Only one big step remained. Laziness dissipated; alertness took hold. Ask or don’t ask? Would it be taking advantage to press for an answer now?

  “Go ahead. You can say it.” She broke the silence. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “You do?” Could she sense the direction my mind had taken? “What am I thinking?”

  “I’m an idiot for making us wait. We could have been boinking like bunnies all along.”

  I chuckled. “I can assure you—that is not what I was thinking.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe that’s what I was thinking, then.” She drew circles on my abdomen, the light touch rekindling my desire. My horns pulsed. Her hand slipped down to my awakening penis. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” She tipped her head to peer up me. A happy light danced in her eyes.