I growl. It's sexy as hell that she knows what she wants and isn't scared to verbalize it. My hand creeps up her leg, going for the center. My fingers find the edge of her panties, inching underneath them, and pushing them to the side. I can already feel the heat between her legs, confirming what she's already voiced she wants. My core tightens as I come in contact with her bare skin. Every feeling becomes my focus, heightening my senses.
Wet.
Hot.
Smooth.
Fucking her becomes my only thought, my primary instinct.
The pace of her breathing and controlling it becomes a necessity.
Making her orgasm and watching as she comes becomes my single-most want.
Marking her becomes my need.
My middle finger slips inside until I can feel the lips of her pussy on my knuckles. She's tighter than I anticipated. I pull out, then shove two back inside: my middle and ring finger. "Fuck," she whispers. "That feels so good."
As I pull out, I swipe the pad of my thumb up the center line, rubbing it over her clit, before coming back down as I thrust back inside. "You like that?"
"Yes."
"You want more?"
"Please."
I reach down to unbutton my pants when a reminder of what I have to do tonight occurs to me at the worst fucking time, reminding me that I'm not what she needs. My dick is most likely going to go on strike later, but I can't do this. Her soul is pure. It's strong. Souls are loud if you learn to listen. Hers is just shaded in places. Those lost in darkness are banned from taking of the light. It's one rule my conscience doesn't question.
I remove my fingers and reposition her panties into place. "Maybe some other time. Kross will be back up here any minute now. We have some things to discuss."
She drops her leg and adjusts her clothes, both of us silent. I push off the wall, giving her room to walk around me. She does, trailing her hand over my stomach as she does. "Have a good night, Kaston. Thanks for...earlier."
Her heels tap against the floor as she walks away. They stop. "Oh, and Kaston..."
"Yeah," I say to the wall, not bothering to look in her direction.
"Where I'm from, we swim in creeks and drive through mud. Some people prefer murky over crystal clear oceans. Something like that is just a personal preference."
Her heels start up again, not stopping until the door downstairs closes. My teeth clench together. I pull my arm back, preparing to swing my fist into the wall, but control the movement to only tap the sheetrock instead of slamming into it. My heart is pounding, I'm starting to sweat, and the itch is back. It's time for a monster's medicine. "You ready to see your shipment?"
I turn to Kross standing in the center of the room. Like me, the motherfucker is quiet. We have to be. "Yeah. I have places to be."
Looks like tonight is going to be messier...
"Lux, this is supposed to be my birthday shindig. Why are you pouting? What the hell happened in that tattoo chair?"
I grab ahold of the drink straw and twirl it around the interior of the glass, stirring my fruity concoction, barely hearing what Delta is saying on the stool beside me. Our kind, he said. Intriguing.
I've been sitting at this bar barely touching my drink since we got here an hour ago. My mind is consumed by him - the sexy stranger that obviously thrives on mystery. I can still feel him in the places he touched me. It's almost a cold tingle or burn, sort of like menthol.
I close my eyes and go back to being against that wall, pretending that he never stopped. Instead, he removes my clothes completely, picking up right where he left off.
"Hello! Earth to Lux."
I immediately open my eyes to Delta waving her hand in front of my face. What the fuck am I doing? I'm sitting here daydreaming about a sexy guy that I met a few short hours ago. What the hell has gotten into me? He's not even the type I need to be dreaming about. I have a checklist for a reason. It's imperative that I stick to it. Sexy bad-boys with alpha demeanors aren't on that list. They are considered bad for a reason. They are trouble makers. They are addictive. Easy on the eyes, fun in the sack, but hard on the heart. I'm not here to become the next knocked up girl in a trailer park working two jobs, one being in the closest diner. I have dreams, goals, and wants. I will stop at nothing to get them.
"Sorry, I was distracted by my thoughts. It was nothing. Just a way to let go of the shit that happened earlier today."
"Is that what you're calling it these days," she asks in a half laugh. "I'm going to say it's safe to assume you didn't have any problems in that department by that sex god of a man. Good lord he was hot."
"Says the one that was drooling over the sinfully sexy tattoo artist. Your ass better show up tomorrow for that interview or I will personally kill you and then bring you back to haunt your dreams and make your life miserable."
Her eyes widen. "I was not drooling. He may be hot, but he's a control freak. I can tell. I'm not into him." Her voice breaks, as the word not comes out of her mouth.
I take a sip of my drink as I look at her over the rim.
It's weak. No one makes drinks like Delta. Most bars are overcharged and under mixed in ratio; too much juice and not enough of the good stuff.
"Save your lies for someone that doesn't know you very intimately, as in better than anyone. You forget we have shared everything at one time or another. I know you better than you know yourself."
Her nose bunches and she bites her bottom lip. "That was back in high school. Everyone does wild things on their senior trip. I didn't work for two years saving to go to Cancun to act like a nun when I got there. We were drunk and sharing a room. Shit happens. If I recall it was you or Brody in my drunken horny state. Brody is sexy, but he can't kiss worth a shit. He had lizard tongue and fingered like he was stabbing someone. It was not sexy."
I throw my hand over my mouth to keep from spewing a mouthful of Amaretto, cranberry, and Crown. In my quick attempt to swallow before the fit of laughter exited, I forgot to do it properly and the liquid drink went down my windpipe, causing me to cough. I suck in air trying to breathe.
"Well, I was happy to oblige. It's what friends are for," I say as I get ahold of myself. "We're young, single, and know each other's likes and dislikes. I'm sure it would happen more frequently if we weren't so stuck in our ways and different in terms of living conditions that we shared an apartment. We both like the D...a lot. Actually, like is probably putting it mildly. We love the D, but sometimes a girl just needs to get an O without dealing with a man's bullshit."
She sucks down the rest of her drink as she stares at me in thought. Setting the empty glass of ice down, she says something that catches me off guard. "I totally agree with you there, but sometimes it's just not the same to get yourself off as it is from someone else. Even though the end result is the same, your own body parts don't give you the same feeling along the way."
She pauses.
"It was kind of hot, wasn't it? Well, it is my twenty-fifth birthday. I'm game for a drunken night of fun if you are."
Something is off. It's been what...seven years since that happened. It's never been mentioned since we left Cancun. Honestly, I'm surprised I even vaguely swayed in that direction of conversation in my attempt to give her a hard time about Kross.
"Delta."
She bites the side of her lip. "Yeah?"
"When is the last time you hooked up with someone?"
"Not too long ago."
She's dodging.
"Delta. How long?"
She looks at her glass, pushing it toward the other side of the bar for the bartender to pick up. "Two years," she says in a mumble.
Two years? What the fuck?
"Uh...why? When have you ever gone that long without sexual activity since you lost your virginity freshman year? Why haven't you mentioned that little tidbit of information? You are against relationships more than anyone I know, so what the hell are you waiting for? You're fucking hot and guys try to talk to you all the time. I'
ve even seen you leave with guys from the bar before. What did y'all go do? Watch movies and cuddle? That's just not you, either of us for that matter. We don't roll that way; never have. Explain. Now."
She looks around as if she's making sure no one is listening. "I know, but it was the same old shit over and over. Different guy here and there, making me all hot and bothered. I would get into it when we were making out and hooking up, but when it got to the sex part it was always stale. Hell I don't know. Is it possible for sex to get old? I stopped getting off about three years ago unless I gave myself a clit orgasm after he was gone. I just wasn't into it and then maybe started overthinking everything, creating a blockage during the act. For a year I tried everything. I tried wild sex, threesomes, and even some BDSM shit with this one guy. Fuck, Lux, nothing worked. After a year I figured if I could only get myself off then what's the point in someone else? My G-spot has gone kaput. It doesn't work. I can only get off by clitoral stimulation. Something is wrong with me."
"What about those guys I've seen you with. Like that one about a month ago."
"Every few months I think maybe it's just stress and try again. You were telling me hot stories about you and Callum and this little affair you two had created...no pun intended. A girl can only listen to that shit so much without wanting to try. After countless flirting endeavors I would think I was into him, but when we went back to his place it was like a switch turning off, so I would usually just come up with some bullshit excuse or get him off, fake a period, and leave. Lame huh?"
She tells me all that shit and one emotion overcomes me: guilt. I feel like such a bad friend right now. How did I not notice? Delta is like a limb that stuck to me and grew into my body after a while. She started out as a drifter and has become one of my life vessels. She's my sister, my best friend. I would be devastated and my life would be significantly altered if something ever happened to her. As horrible as it sounds, I'd be more affected if something happened to her than my own mother.
I down the rest of my drink and wave the bartender over. He comes fairly quickly for a busy night. "Want another?"
"Close out our tab. Here." I throw down a wad of cash to tip him.
“Give me a second.” He takes the cash and disappears, bringing back my card and a slip for me to sign. I scribble my signature down after recording the total, minus the tip, and he takes it and leaves, heading to serve someone else.
Delta looks at me. "Where are you going? It's still early?"
I grab her hand and pull her to her feet. Pulling her into a hug, I press my lips to the side of her ear. "We're taking the party to your place, birthday girl. Wine and girl talk, then with a buzz we're going to play. After today being hot, cold, hot, and then cold again, I'm a little wound tight, and this place blows anyway. I'm down for exchanging the big O. I'm getting you off so you can sleep like a baby and dream of hot things, like a certain sexy tattoo artist that will be expecting you tomorrow. I can't send you to an interview that could quite possibly change your life if you're sexually frustrated. Then what kind of friend would I be?"
A certain pair of gray eyes flash in my mind as I start making my way to the door, Delta keeping pace beside me. Our kind are all born into less than ideal places, places that some wouldn't survive in. I'm not sure why that particular part from earlier keeps standing out, but for some reason I want to find out. The way he said, our, is sparking an interest that I don't need. I wonder if I'll bump into those deep eyes and that unfiltered mouth again....
I walk in and instantly see her sitting at the bar, waiting for me. We don't like each other. We never have. In her eyes I took something that is hers and the feeling is mutual. She got the first eight years plus all time prior, and I got the last twenty, sharing him with her when he scheduled a meeting. They didn't have a fucking marriage, both of them just refused to see it for what it was. I guess when you invest that much time in someone the option to walk away dissipates.
I might have some sympathy for the bitch had she not kept me from knowing a father when I thought I didn't have one. My conception was my mother and her husband’s fault, not mine. Kids don't deserve that shit. If she couldn't stand the thought of me in the mix then she should have walked out the day she found out he stepped outside of their marriage.
I walk forward until I reach the bar, placing my palms down on the bar top as I lean forward and look to the left, the direction in which she is sitting. "How was your flight?" My voice seethes with sarcasm, but she wasn't exactly someone I wanted to lay my eyes on after having to deny my dick something it was practically salivating over.
"It was fine. Like you really care."
"Not really. That was me being tolerant."
She huffs. I look at her, sitting perfectly pressed in her designer wardrobe, one that he provided.
"I see your settlement is treating you well."
She slaps me across the face, leaving a tingle where her hand was. I hold up my hand when I hear the bartender's footsteps heading in our direction. From the corner of my eye I notice him turn around and go back to his original location, to check on the other customers in the hotel bar. My jaw steels.
"I've put up with a lot of shit over the years...from you, from him, and from her. If I was only with him for money I would have walked the day I found out he was sleeping with that money-hungry tramp at work that seduced him and got pregnant as a life insurance policy. You don't think I could have taken him to the cleaners for adultery? Well, think again. You seem to forget that I was the one that married him when he had nothing, not a dime to his name. I also stayed with him when he left me for you and to start over in a new place, leaving behind a good job, a life we'd built, and friends we'd made. I was the one that was left alone after she died, so give me a fucking break. I'm exhausted. He's gone and everything has been sorted. I'm only here to give you something I thought you might want, and then I'm on the first flight back to New York where I can attempt at actually living a life in peace."
It stings at the mention of my mother. I haven't spoken to her or seen her since the day I walked out with my dad. I pull out the stool next to her and sit as she grabs the stem of her glass and takes a sip of her white wine. I don't deny anything she says. My mother was a vicious woman. She didn't care about anyone but herself. Even at eight I could see that. She didn't make any attempts to hide it. "What do you need to give me that's so important, Marilyn?"
She waves the bartender over. "Order a drink. We have things to discuss."
"Jim Beam, Black label, on the rocks."
The bartender sets the tumbler in front of me, leaving us alone. I immediately take a sip, savoring the taste before letting the smooth liquid run down my throat, taking the edge off. She slides a large, yellow envelope toward me. "What's this?"
"Things you never knew. Things you should know. Things you have a right to know. It may not matter now, but everyone deserves to know the truth, because if I had to bet on it, I would guess he never told you."
He...
I take another sip and set my glass down on the bar as I pick up the folder and flip it over. I pinch the metal clasps and open the flap, revealing a stack of papers inside in all shapes and sizes. I reach inside and pull out what I can grasp, inspecting each thing. The first one is a photo of him holding a baby, my sister I guess, in what looks like a hospital room. "Is this her?"
"No, that's you, Kaston. I was mad that day. Even after six months of knowing she was carrying his child I still hated your mother. We tried for years after your sister for a little boy, but due to complications when she was born I couldn't get pregnant again. That's why we were fighting so much. I blamed myself and became distant, becoming emotionally closed off from him. He threw himself into work and I let him. I knew he was seeing someone. One thing about your father was that he was honest. He didn't lie well. He wore his discomfort all over his face. I was so distraught at the time that I reasoned with myself that it was a way for him to cope with everything and pretended not to noti
ce."
She takes another sip of her wine. I don't know why the fuck I'm sitting here listening to all this shit. I didn't know I looked like a fucking Psychologist, but because of Dad I guess I'll see what she has to say. Discretely I look at my watch, hoping she is going to be done soon so I can prepare for tonight's job.
"But then he came home and confessed he had been seeing someone, that it just happened late at night. I just wanted to go back to imagining it, to pretending I didn't know, because when he told me she was pregnant I was slapped with a reality. That reality was that he got what we both wanted...with someone else. I didn't speak to him for weeks. I couldn't. He wanted to be there for her and I couldn't stomach to stop him. Instead I sunk into a depression until the day he told me that it was a boy. I snapped. I threatened to leave and never let him see his daughter again if he didn't stop seeing her. It was too much to handle. I was angry."
"Well it looks like you got your wish. Congrat-"
"But then she called when she went into labor. I hated her. She had everything I wanted. She had you. By that time I had time to think things over. I loved your father and you were a part of him. I couldn't deny him of that."
My brows dip in confusion, my eyes squinting. "What?"
She looks at me. "I went with him to the hospital. I accepted you to be a part of our family. When we got there I took that photo at the nursery. I saw you and I fell in love with you as if you were my own."
"I'm not following you."
She takes a deep breath. "Your mother found out I was there. I obviously wasn't part of her plans. I put a dent in the wallet that she was already claiming as hers. It's why she got pregnant. She thought your father was going to leave me and marry her. When he explained that we were there to be a part of your life she made him choose. It was your sister and I or her and you. Since you weren't old enough to know the difference and he knew a judge would never take you away from your mother, he chose us and started making deposits into her bank account regularly to make sure you were taken care of, hoping over time she would come to her senses. About once a year he would try to talk to her with no avail."
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