by Nicole Fox
“Well … to be fair, Trixie was the one that brought it up. I thought it was a good idea, though. Celebrate your new job and you being back in the fold and alive and all.” I said it casually, as if it were just another welcome home party. Misha raised one of her brows, but there was a tiny little smirk that tugged the corner of her lips.
“I appreciate it either way, Trip. You didn’t have to do that.”
“But I wanted to.”
She shifted in her seat as I kept my eyes on her. There was a lot that I wanted. This, her happiness, her. I wondered if she could feel it in the way I looked at her.
She squirmed.
Obviously, she did.
I smirked a little, but didn’t let her see too much of it as I ducked down, opening one of the drawers to my desk. Inside was a sealed envelope, thick with paper and weighted by something inside. It had Misha’s name on it, penned shakily. I slid it over to her. She seemed confused.
“Trip, what—”
Her words stopped when she got a look at the writing. Her hand came to her chest.
“D-daddy …”
“He wrote that after you were taken,” I said. “He was going to bury it in the memorial—”
“There’s a memorial?” she interrupted sharply, though I could hear the tears in her voice even though they had yet to fall. I nodded.
“Yeah. We—your father, the boys, and I and some people from town—set it up. He was going to bury it there, but never had the heart to do it.”
“Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“It’s not like we’ve had a lot of time or opportunity to sit down and talk about this shit, Misha.”And you don’t sit still long enough for us to talk as it is.
I kept my words to myself as she swallowed and looked back down at the unopened letter. She eyed it, as if afraid.
“Has anyone else read this?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No one’s opened that envelope. It’s as closed as the day your father licked the seal shut, Misha.”
Slowly, her finger slid into the fold, tearing along it. It gave fairly easily; the letter was old and the paper dry—I hadn’t let anything get to that letter in the five years it’d been since it was written.
I sat back and watched as Misha pulled the letter out. There was still something in the bottom of it, but she didn’t pull it out yet. Instead, she read. The tears she had been holding back slowly but surely began to well, and then they started to fall the more she read those words. She didn’t sob; Misha wasn’t that kind of woman. But I knew that it took a lot to make her cry, and her father’s last words were so very clearly capable of that.
I let her read, and when she was done, she folded the letter up and held it to her chest. She fished the trinket from inside the envelope. It was a delicate silver chain with a small pendant stone dangling from it. I recognized it from our childhood; her mother used to wear it, and her mother before her, and so on. It was an heirloom after Misha’s mother passed away when she was ten or so. It was something incredibly significant and cherished.
Misha slid it around her neck. When she got up, I figured she was leaving, not wanting to stay in my presence while she was like that. I was surprised when she came over to me, leaned over me, and kissed me.
She’d grabbed the front of my shirt to pull me close to her. I slammed my hands on the top of my desk to steady myself before I stood to full height. It just made her stand on her tiptoes and wrap her arms around me. Mine did the same.
The press of her body against mine was more than welcome. Her kisses were open and desperate and so the fuck were mine. I moaned against her as I held her. There was nothing better than it.
She rocked against me, and I groaned. It was so easy to get me wanting her. I’d have felt bad had she not whined and ground against me again. It made me jolt against her and back her against the desk.
I wanted to rip off her clothes. My fingers dug into the hem of her shirt and inched underneath it, feeling her sides and just the heat of her. I wanted to throw her down and fuck her—show her she didn’t need to cry. I was here. I was going to take care of her.
I remembered how she’d left before though, and I knew that now wasn’t the time.
This time, it was me that pulled away. Misha sniffled, and seemed to realize then as I rested my forehead against hers what she’d done.
“Oh … Oh, Trip, I’m so sorry.”
I hushed her by kissing her.
“You’re fine,” I said. “More than fine, actually. But I know you’re not gonna want this right now, and there’s a whole lot of people out there that are gonna be waiting on us to get out there.” The implication was obvious—I knew she wouldn’t want people talking.
She nodded. She wiped her eyes on her shirt and she nodded once more.
“Yeah … yeah you’re right. But, Trip?” She bit her lip as she looked up at me with those big, pretty eyes of hers.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe … Sometime you’re not busy … We can just sit and talk or something? Like actually talk. Not the … whatever we’ve been doing lately.”
I was shocked, and it took me a moment to answer. When I did, I barely sounded like myself. Voice all squeaky and everything, like I was a teenager cracking his voice again.
“Yeah,” I managed to get out. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
She smiled at me and pecked my cheek. She took my hand and pulled me out of the office, into the front. I was surprised that she kept her hand in mine, but I wasn’t going to complain and I wasn’t going to pull it away from her, either. I squeezed her hand and smiled as Rose came up and ran to her.
“Mama! I got something for you.”
Misha wrapped Rose in a one-armed hug—I was admittedly pleased with the fact that she hadn’t let go of my hand, in all honesty.
“You got me something, baby?” she asked.
“Uh huh! Mr. Trip helped me wrap it up!”
Misha looked at me. “Did you now?”
I shrugged with a smile.
“I might have given direction.”
Rose excitedly tugged us over to where Misha’s gifts were stockpiled. The boys had gone hard on her, and there was a decent stack of gifts. It was like Christmas.
“You guys seriously didn’t need to do all of this,” Misha said as Rose dug for her gift. Misha eyed the presents in awe.
“Of course we did!” Travis boomed. “It’s your welcome back slash congrats on your work party! Definitely requires presents. Think of it like five years of birthdays and shit, if that makes you feel better.”
Misha laughed. God, I could live for that laugh.
Rose brought over her gift for Misha. It was only then that she let go of my hand. I watched as she opened up the gift carefully, like it was the most precious thing to her. She beamed at the necklace inside.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s lovely!”
“You like it, Mama?”
“I love it.”
From there, it was mingling. I stayed close to Misha, and she didn’t shrug me off. I introduced her to a couple of new people that she hadn’t yet met, and she reconnected with a few people who had only recently heard about her mysterious return and the presence of Rose. For her sake, I was able to deflect most of the intrusive questions. After getting around, she turned to me.
“I think I want a drink,” she said breathlessly. “There’s so many people here. I didn’t think most people would even care!”
I laughed, leading her to the bar.
“Of course they care. You weren’t hated or anything like that before you were taken. Come on. What you want? Something strong?”
“Sure. We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”
I order us both a whiskey.
“Honestly, though, thank you, Trip.”
“For what?”
She gestured about.
“All of this,” she said. “It … it feels like I’m back home, you know? I didn’t know if I would be able to feel like that ever agai
n after everything and—”
“Hey,” I said. I nudged her with my foot. “It’s fine, honestly. Least I could do. Besides, like I said … It was Trixie that thought of this whole master plan anyway. I just did her bidding.” I hung my head solemnly, though I smirked. She shoved a little at my shoulder.
“Oh, poor you, at Trixie’s mercy. She’s barely my size.”
“Hey, you small people are scary!”
She laughed again, and took a drink. We smalltalked like that for a while, for the first time having a real ease about us. The diner … well, I supposed that had been close. But not close enough.
When it came time for her to put Rose to bed, she came over to me. Rose gave me an unexpected hug.
“Night, Mr. Trip,” she said sleepily.
Misha disappeared into the back, tucking her in per their nightly routine. I hadn’t sat in on one yet. I wondered if I should go back there, but then thought against it. I nursed my drink. Things had gotten a little calmer. The music that was playing was softer. I hummed to the tune. It sounded familiar.
“Looks like the boys are starting to tucker out.”
I turned to Misha.
“You want to dance?” I asked.
She tilted her head at me. “Dance?”
“Yeah. You know. Two to tango, all that jazz—”
“You know nothing about tango or jazz.”
I shrugged. “Perhaps. But the offer still stands.”
She bit her lip, and looked out to the semi-empty bar with drinking patrons and Pride members. She smiled.“Sure.”
I led her out to the floor. The song changed over, but it was still a little bit of a slow one. I took her in my arms and had her pressed up close to me. The scent of booze and the softness of her shampoo mixed together nicely; it was so very much a Misha thing. I laid my head on top of hers and she fitted against me with her face in my neck.
“I haven’t danced like this in a long time,” she breathed out.
“Yeah. Neither have I.”
It was the truth. I didn’t dance with women—not like this. If I danced, it was dirty, and it was with the intention of getting the girl nice and riled and ready to fuck.
This? I just wanted to be close to her, and I would probably get some shit from the boys for being a sap, but I didn’t really care at the moment. It was like old days. The bar, the music—and Misha, right where she belonged.
# # #
I was a little buzzed, but I was happy. I don’t think I’d felt real happy in a really long time. It felt good in Trip’s arms, a little more than it should have, but I leaned into him without a hesitation.
I shouldn’t have … But I couldn’t help myself.
As we swayed to the music, I leaned up and kissed him. He seemed surprised, but he didn’t pull away. It was sweet at first, and deepened. I heard a wolf whistle from somewhere, and blushed—but I didn’t pull away.
“Misha … Are you …”
“I should have stayed kissing you in the office.”
It didn’t matter that people were around. I didn’t really care. Why should I? What did I have to be embarrassed by? I was thinking about a lot and the alcohol didn’t help, but I was happy right now, and I deserved that, didn’t I?
“Let’s get out of here.”
He didn’t ask me if I meant it; it was in my voice that I meant it. He took me by the hand and led me from the bar, almost over-eager in the way he tugged me—to the bathroom. It was so silly; it was stuff that teenagers and single people did. Not two people with a history. Not two people who, maybe, probably, still had feelings for each other.
I let him press me against the door, and he hoisted me up, keeping up those kisses. I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“We used to do this all the time.”
“Are you saying we’re too old for getting dirty in a bathroom?”
“Well, considering the bathroom is already dirty—”
He cut me off with another kiss, and ground against me. I moaned, feeling him between the heat of my legs, hard and wanting—wanting me. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, wanting him just as badly. The alley hadn’t been enough and I couldn’t help but whine when he bit a little harder on my neck.
My hands were sloppy, moving under his shirt, tugging, going down to his pants to get at what I wanted from him. He bucked against me eagerly, groaning while me did, before letting out a curse as my fingers slid over his cock.
“What?” I breathed. “What is it?”
“No condoms on me.”
“Fuck.”
He rested his forehead against mine and I bit at his lip.
“We don’t have to have sex to have fun.”
His brow rose, obviously having his mind on sex rather than just getting off. That was fine. I smirked at him and took him in my hand, figuring at least in part I could return the favor of him fucking me so thoroughly. His eyes rolled and his Adam’s apple bobbed with strangled swallows as I stroked him and squeezed him. I loved the weight of him in my hand and it was nostalgic having him like this in here.
“Fuck, Misha, just like that. Fingers on the head—”
I swiped my thumb over his dripping slit, and he rocked harder into my hand, like he was fucking into me for real. The thought made me wet and tighten around him. He pressed his forehead to mine and I watched him as he got closer and closer, how the muscles in his neck strained until he finally came, pressing hard against me as his release spilled all over my hand.
“Shit …” His breath puffed at my hair and as I pushed it out of my face with my clean hand, he pulled away from me, dropping to his knees.
“Trip, what—”
He shoved my thighs apart, popped my button, and pulled my pants down before I had sense to finish my sentence. He took my panties down with them, and nuzzled himself against my hip.
“I wanna see if you taste the same.”
Heat flooded my core and I had to hold myself up on his shoulders when he went for me, sliding his tongue between my lips to capture my clit between his own. I moaned, and the sound echoed through the bathroom. He groaned against me and the sensation was amazing, tantalizing, and I couldn’t help but rock my hips against his face and the motion of his tongue over me. He slipped his fingers inside of me, curling them and hitting my G-spot with precision only a person who’d been your first could have.
“Trip, right there, right there—” I dug my nails in his shoulders and tightened around those fingers, wishing they were something else. I thought about what it would feel like, and remembered what it had been like when he’d fucked me in the alley. In, out, just like his fingers.
They worked together with his mouth, his growls, all drawing me closer and closer until I was whining.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop—”
I pressed my hips close to his face, almost screaming as I came for him, flooding around his fingers. I panted above him and rocked against him as he just kept going until I was twitching, until it was almost too much. He pulled away but helped me up, making sure that I didn’t slump over or fall in the wake of the orgasm that I had just had.
“Holy shit …”
He stood and nuzzled to me, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You taste just as good as I remembered.”
Chapter Eight
Misha
Misha,
I can’t tell you how much I miss you. There’s not a day in the last few weeks that has gone by when I haven’t missed you. I put your room back together thinking that it would be easier to accept, but it wasn’t. It just made me angrier to know that I wouldn’t be seeing my baby girl again.
I took to the bottle. I know you wouldn’t like it, but it was hard to say no. I was good after your mama left us, but you don’t just turn down a Daniel’s after you lose your child. You just don’t. It’s something I can’t describe.
I let myself drown in the bottle. I’m not proud to admit it, but it gave
me time to grieve. When I was done, it gave me time to think.
You’re out there, somewhere, Misha. I know you are. Lot of things seem funny now that my head is clear and my thoughts are sharp. I’ve known the Jackals and the Pride a long time—long before your beau Trip ever was a squirt in his mama. It’s not a move them Jacks would make. Not even to piss the Pride.
I don’t know why, but you’ve run.
