The Boy I Grew Up With

by Tijan

  It was quieter there, sometimes. Channing didn’t want me at the warehouse. He said they’d handle everything. I wasn’t supposed to stress myself out. Stress was bad for concussions. Yeah. Well. This insane boredom was worse. He came home every minute he could, and I knew Bren was in and out. She was mostly out—or sneaking in late at night.

  Channing had tried to keep track of her, but it was a losing battle. Bren could move around the house like a cat, and her guy was the same. If they were having sex, they were damned quiet—and that was an if because I didn’t fully know what was going on. I think Channing did, but he didn’t want to talk about them.

  We usually switched on our fan to cover our noises too. We were high-class, in a trailer-park kind of way.

  We were high-class, in a Roussou kind of way.

  Then, Channing came home early one afternoon.

  I didn’t see him. I just heard him, but it was enough. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was in the kitchen when he came in. He went to the bathroom, opening and closing drawers. The closet door opened. Something was going on, but I waited. He’d come to me, and a few minutes later, he did.

  A suitcase came with him too, along with my traveling bag.

  He rested that on top of the table, laying an airplane ticket beside it.

  He was sending me away.

  “No.” I shook my head. Decision made. Conversation done. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  He raked a hand through his hair and sat across from me at the table. “It’s not what you think. Mason called me.”

  I sat up, leaning forward. “Is Sam okay?”

  “He thinks Sam’s going to have the kid soon. He wanted to fly you out as a surprise.”

  Convenient timing. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Really?” But I was doing the math in my head, and it was close.

  “Really.”

  He schooled himself. He wasn’t shifting his eyes around. He wasn’t moving, scratching, itching, being restless. There was no finger tapping, no foot tapping. He was calm. This was the dead serious Channing, but without the dead part. There was no intensity from him, just a matter-of-fact expression.

  “I don’t believe you.” I called his bluff.

  His phone shot across the table to me. “Call Mase for yourself.”

  I shoved it back. “Mason will lie to have your back seven days out of the week. Sam would do the same for me.”

  God. A bubble of frustration rose in my throat. I couldn’t call Sam because it was getting close to her due date. That was true, but I couldn’t ask her if Mason wanted to fly me out as a surprise. That could be true too. I had to go with my gut. If Channing was going to make moves, he’d want me safe—and flying to Massachusetts was pretty safe for us.

  I tried a different tactic.

  “I’ll stay at one of their houses in town,” I offered. “Mason bought a house. I could go there. Or Nate’s parents’ house. They’re never here. Or hell, even Sam’s parents’ house. Malinda and David. They’d put me up.”

  I would be close, but safe.

  I waited, not looking away, but Channing didn’t break. He shook his head and sighed, his shoulders lowering. “I have other safe places I could ship you to if it were for safety reasons. Mason really is flying you out to surprise Sam. When you come back, he’s going to fly Malinda out. She’s going to stay with them for a while, help Sam with the baby.”

  I gritted my teeth. It all sounded legit, and that made my toes curl. Channing was sending me off to get me out of the way, but dammit—he was doing such a good job. I began to feel obligated to go.

  “You fucker.”

  He smirked, a cocky half-grin. His eyes flashed at me, darkening. “How’s your head?”

  This was another of our routines. Channing would come home. Sometimes it started right away, other times later in the evening or after we sat outside for an hour together, but that question always came around.

  How was my head?

  Any headaches?

  What was eight multiplied by twenty?

  He was a jerk with the last question. They were supposed to be questions I could’ve answered before the concussion—multiplication and asking me to recite the capitals of all fifty states weren’t those questions. I still didn’t know, and I was rounding out the end of my two-week concussion-healing timeframe. I was good. I was fine. I was ready to wade into the fight.

  Fucking Richter had taken me, had made me scale a tree, and I wanted in on that revenge. I knew Channing was cooking it up. He’d started to stay away longer and longer, sometimes dropping into bed at three or four in the morning, only to get up and head out around six. Every time I asked, he recited the doctor’s words: “Rest. Eat right. Dark rooms. No television. No internet. Nothing that would stimulate the brain.” He followed that up with a recent study that said it could take up to a hundred days to fully recover from a concussion, if a person didn’t follow those guidelines.

  Every time he said this, I told him to “stuff it.”

  He would cite the source in response.

  By the time that exchange was done, I always did have a headache, and then he’d kiss me softly and say, “I told you so.”

  I wanted to punch him. One time I did, but Channing only caught my hand, started laughing, and tucked me under him. I wasn’t complaining. That was one activity I could do.

  Fine. I swallowed my growl.

  I’d go. I had to now.

  But I was going to suck him dry of all the information I could before I left.

  “What’s going on with Richter?”

  Channing relaxed, leaning back in his seat. “He’s going down. That’s what’s going on.”

  “Have you talked to Traverse?”

  Channing’s eyes grew hooded, and a wall slid in place. He got up, like I knew he would. He hated when I turned interrogator, and he went into the kitchen and looked through the fridge.

  He spoke with his back to me, half his words mumbled, but I heard, “…called, and said they’re watching Richter.”

  “Channing.”

  He straightened and turned back.

  “I’m only going if I know.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Tell me every detail. This is my revenge too, not just yours.”

  He studied me, gauging my words, and I looked right back. He could stare all he wanted. I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t bluffing.

  My nostrils flared. “I’m not getting on that plane unless I know it. All of it.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed a beer, but he didn’t come back to the table. He rested against the kitchen counter, his feet crossed at the ankles.

  He started.

  “Traverse said Richter brought in another Demons charter. They didn’t agree with what Traverse did, so there’s a war between them. That’s why Richter hasn’t made a move and why we haven’t either. We’re waiting for that to finish. No matter who the winner is, Traverse is going to give us Richter.” His eyes slid from mine, and his mouth clenched.

  “Are you sending your crew to help Traverse?”

  His eyes came back to mine, and I saw the hardened look in them. “Fuck. Yes. I’m sending all the help I can. I want Richter to burn for what he did to you.”

  “So you’re in a waiting period with Richter. What about that other guy? The one that talked to you in your new storefront.”

  Annoyance flashed over his face. “Yeah. That asshole. He was the guy wanting that con guy.”

  “The con job on Chad’s mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “The con man was an heir to some rich crotchety old guy. His lawyer, a Peter—”

  I grinned at that. He looked like one of those guys.

  “—paid us to deliver the son to him. We did. They went away, and the lawyer showed back up to let us know he’d left his rich pop’s estate and was probably coming for payback. He said that, and Chad went nuts, Hulk-style.”

  I sighed. I’d seen it once, and it’d been fireworks. A sick and twisted part of me wanted to see it a
gain—maybe on Richter.

  I inclined my head. “Is it possible that the Peter was working with Richter? He was the bait to pull you away, and that’s when they snatched me?”

  “We thought that, but we grabbed his phone. There was no history of calls between the two. We ran down every number. They all checked out.”

  I wasn’t going to ask how they got his phone, or the history. Knowing Channing, they just took it, whether the guy wanted to hand it over or not.

  “So he was letting you know as what? A courtesy?”

  “No.” Channing shook his head. “Money. If the son comes back, he wants us to deliver him back to the pop for the same money. I told him that wouldn’t fly. We’d just deal with him ourselves.”

  I grinned. “What’d he do after that?”

  Channing matched my grin. “He doubled the fee. It’s on a continuous basis.”

  “Why would the con guy keep coming back?”

  He shrugged, sipping his beer. “The Peter thinks he has a score here that he hasn’t gotten yet, and it’s good enough to keep bringing him back. We’ll find out. If he shows up, we’ll snatch him and beat him for information.”

  “Is that what you did before?”

  Channing scowled. His hand tightened on his beer, then he tossed it back in one swallow. “You’re right.” He swore under his breath. “We’ll have to try a different method.”

  “Let Becca at him.”

  He tilted his head.

  “I have a feeling if anyone can figure out how to weasel info from the guy, it’ll be her.”

  “Shit.” His eyebrows rose. “You’re right. I bet she would, and if she can’t…” A seductive smile pulled at his lips. “Maybe we’ll let you go at him.”

  The thought of having a guy tied up in front of me at my complete disposal, where I could do whatever I wanted, say whatever I wanted—I couldn’t deny the zing that went down my spine. But then I really pictured the guy, whoever he was. I chose a sleazy, smarmy kind of guy. Greasy hair. Too much tanner. Blinding white teeth. Heavy chains around his neck and a fake Rolex on his wrist.

  That zing dried up immediately, so I replaced him with Channing.

  Channing tied up. Channing at my disposal, at my command, and I could do whatever I wanted with him.

  That had appeal, a lot of appeal. A throbbing started between my legs, and watching me, Channing’s eyes darkened in response.

  He set aside his beer. “What are you thinking?”

  “I want to fuck you. I want to ride you so hard, so smooth that I’ll be able to just squeeze my legs at the right moment, with the right amount of pressure, and you’ll come so long and hard, you’ll be seeing the fucking galaxy.”

  His eyes went wide, and I smiled. I was almost purring as he tossed his bottle into the sink and scooped me up.

  “The things you say.”

  My pants were soon unzipped, unbuttoned. He tugged them down, his hand on my bare ass.

  He threw me over his shoulder, but damn, I wanted down. I wanted to touch him. He took me to his room and dropped me onto the bed, bending with me so his hand lingered on my ass. Groaning, he pulled away to shut the door. He flipped the lock and turned the fan on full blast.

  High-class, people. High-class.

  I rolled on my back and watched him come to me.

  He started to take his shirt off but paused, his eyes locked on mine.

  I licked my lips and murmured, huskily, “Take it off.”

  His eyes were so dark, they were almost black. He nudged my legs apart and stepped between them. His head inclined just enough to let me know he meant business. “You take it off.”

  An explosion of lust filled me. He wanted to play games? Hell to the fuck yes.

  I scooted down to the edge of the bed, wrapping my legs around his, and I jerked him forward. Taking a good hold on his jeans, I pulled him the rest of the way until he almost fell on me. He caught himself, steadying, and smirked at me.

  His dick was hard, standing right up, and I skimmed my hand up the front of him, reveling in his small groan. He tipped his head back, letting me do whatever the hell I wanted.

  And I wanted. I wanted.

  I pushed his shirt up, my hand running over all of those muscles. He sucked in his stomach under that touch.

  I could make him gasp. I could make him tremble. I could make him do anything I wanted, and that power was addictive. Climbing to my knees on the bed, I lifted the shirt over his head, and his eyes caught mine once more. I tossed it at the same time his hand came up to cup my neck. It was his turn now. He bent down, his lips hovering over mine.

  “You have any idea how hot I am for you right now?”

  My hand went down his chest, and I undid his jeans, slipping inside. Wrapping my fingers around his cock, I grinned back at him.

  “I have a feeling.” My thumb grazed the top of him and a guttural groan left him, almost in an explosive way. He bent down, put his hands around my legs, and lifted me clean up in the air.

  “Channing!” I clamped onto him, my legs and arms wrapped tight, but then I closed my eyes. I started not to care where he was taking me. I could feel him between my legs, and a small shift—there he was. He was pushing his way in. The only barrier between us was my panties.

  “Goddamn, woman.”

  I grinned, nipping his neck. “Get my underwear off. Now.”

  He put me on his dresser and ripped them off in a flash. He was rock hard. Tensing, I didn’t know what for, but he paused a second longer than I wanted. He reached for his drawer, but I wasn’t waiting. Condom be damned. I wanted another Naly, and I took his dick in my hand like a stick shift. I put that fucker in gear. Scooting to the edge of the dresser, I moved him inside me at the same time.

  Channing gasped, his hand grabbing the dresser.

  “Holy fuck, Heather.”

  I really wasn’t waiting. He could adjust at his own pace. I began rolling my hips, riding him in a smooth motion, taking him deep, then bringing him back to the edge and repeating. I went slow at first, speeding up next.

  Channing was frozen, rigid as I rode him until suddenly, another growl erupted and he grabbed me, spinning and dropping us both onto his bed. One hand clamped onto my hip, and the other grabbed the top of his headboard, and he began to ride me in return. He lifted himself, his hips matching my motions at an almost frenzied speed. I was blind with desire. The pleasure built and built, coating my insides, tensing me, stretching me.

  I loved this man, but I might’ve loved what he did to me in bed the most.

  Reaching up, I grabbed him, trying to bring him down. I wanted to feel his weight.

  “Hell no,” he grunted and just thrust harder into me.

  God.

  He was like a man possessed, but this had been my time to dominate. Not his. He was tormenting me. I mean, he was giving it to me, but I wanted more. I needed more, and snarling, I grabbed his arm and yanked him down.

  “Wha—”

  I broke his hold from the headboard. Before he caught himself, I flipped our positions, dragging him down on the bed and clambering on top. I threw one leg over him, and I sank down on him.

  Oh, damn. That felt good.

  I could feel him in spots I hadn’t before, and bracing myself on his chest, I began going again. His hands went to my hips, and he matched me, our hips almost dancing together, grinding.

  This. Yes. This way.

  My head fell back, and I savored this.

  After a bit, I felt him sit up, and his lips found my breasts.

  Pleasure coursed through me. I grabbed the back of his head. My fingers sank in, holding him to me as he took my nipple in his teeth. I began to crave that, yearning for him to torture the other one too.

  There were no pretty words between us. There weren’t flowery promises. There was just us. Our love. Our bodies. The addiction we had for each other. We were linked, like invisible chains. They were there, whether we wanted them or not. The farther apart we went, they just w
ent with us, growing taut until the other gave in and came back.

  That was how we were, and as I rode my man to completion, felt him jerking under my body and shooting up into me, this was ecstasy. I squeezed him, savoring how he felt inside me. I didn’t need the drug. I had him. I went over the edge and felt my orgasm almost assaulting my body. It went all the way to my toes, to my fingers, to the base of my neck where one of his hands had crept, anchoring me as he came.

  I gasped, panting.

  My eyelids peeled open, and I stared down at him.

  I saw the same contentment in his eyes, and one corner of his mouth curved up. “You are welcome to do that any time, anywhere, and anyway you want.”

  “Maybe I’ll fly out tomorrow.”

  His arms came around me, pulling me down. He rolled on top and fitted right between my legs.

  “Yes. Maybe you’ll fly out tomorrow.” He wasn’t ready for another go, but he laid on me, and I savored this feeling of him. I traced my finger down his back as he ran a hand down my side and leg.

  I raked my fingers through his hair.

  We lay like that for an hour.

  Channing had to make some calls, but when he came back, he climbed right into bed. We stayed there the rest of the day, and when it was getting dark out, he rolled me to my stomach and thrust in from behind.

  It was his turn to make me see the stars.

  47

  Heather

  I was on the plane the next day.

  People were still getting to their seats, but I had my seatbelt on. I’d gone to the bathroom. My phone was in my hand, headphones on for music, and I was already bored. Flipping through the travel magazines in the seat pouch in front of me, I glanced between them and my phone. Then I thought, fuck it. I called Sam. We hadn’t talked for a while—not since the day at Manny’s when I needed some strength not to end up in bed with Channing.

  It’d been a losing battle from the beginning.

  “Hey!” She answered a second later, sounding out of breath.

  “Hey. What were you doing?” I grinned. “Bumping uglies with your man?”