Divorced, Desperate and Dead

by Christie Craig

  Later, he’d evaluate.

  Later, he’d reign himself in.

  Not now.

  She led him into a bathroom. He lagged behind a half a step to sneak a backside view. Amazingly, her rounded ass was as breathtaking as the treasures on the other side. Once they stepped into the tiny bathroom, he took the lead. He reached behind the shower curtain and turned on the water, setting it to spray warm.

  Hand behind the curtain, he leaned down and kissed her while he waited for the temperature to reach perfection. When it felt right, he used his wet hand to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. He tried not to let his eyes wander to the point she’d feel uncomfortable. Not an easy task.

  His eyes begged to wander.

  His hands ached to touch.

  His mouth longed to taste.

  “Are you still sore?” he asked, noting the bruise.

  “No,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, then too tempted, he let his gaze move.

  There wasn’t one inch on her body that wasn’t perfect. Every sweet curve, every cute dimple, the way one part of her led to the other part—neck to the shoulders, hips to legs. He ran a finger down across her forearm, savoring the softness, feasting on the ivory color of her skin, and how the rosy hue of her nipples stood out.

  How could she have any issue with being naked? Hopefully, when he finished loving her, she’d realize how beautiful she was.

  He slipped his hand behind the curtain to check the water temperature one more time. Then, placing a soft kiss on her mouth, he tugged her inside. The steamy water hit his back and felt like heaven. He placed the wrapped condom on the edge of the tub.

  He found a piece of soap and rubbed it in his palms.

  “Wait.” She looked up at him. “Are you supposed to get your wound wet?”

  “They said three days. It’s been that.” He smiled, amazed she was concerned about his leg, when all he could think about was getting his hands on her curves.

  When he put the soap down, the shift of his shoulders had the spray of water hitting her right in the face. He laughed and turned her around. Then he put his soapy hands on her shoulders and let them glide down her forearms. Down and then up. On the upward sweep, he eased over to her breasts. Taking his sweet time, he bathed her tight nipples until they tightened even more.

  Leaning his face down, he kissed her neck and stared at her breasts as his slippery touch moved over them. He heard her inhale and her head came back against his chest.

  “You like that?” he asked.

  “Mmm,” was all she said.

  He let his touch go lower, until he slipped between her legs. She let out a light moan. He found her warm spot wet and slippery. Ready.

  And so was he. But not yet.

  She started to turn around and he stopped her. He pulled her against him. The little shift had his sex brushing against her backside.

  The feel of her smooth wetness on his fingers, and the sight of his hand buried below that triangle of hair, had him growing harder. He pressed warm kisses in the curve of her neck and continued to move his fingers inside her. Her hips began to rock, ever so slightly. “Can you come like this?”

  “I . . . I don’t . . . I mean . . .”

  He laughed at her inability to talk. “Try.” He pushed his finger deeper inside her. “Lean against me. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.” Her weight came against him and her hips rotated a little faster.

  In less than a minute, two fingers moving inside her, and his right palm brushing over her nipples, she made a tight mewing sound. A smiled pulled at his lips when her tight opening started to contract and he knew he’d accomplished his feat.

  Her weight came completely against him. He caught her and held her close, kissing the side of her throat, feeling her pulse flutter against his lips. The view of her breasts, her nipples tight, and the slick feel of her orgasm on his hand, had him growing harder. His sex throbbed with anticipation.

  After a few seconds, she caught her breath and turned around. Her eyes were bright with passion, her face a little pink. He laughed and leaned down and kissed her. “You are magnificent.”

  She moved in for another kiss, and her hands moved down his sides until she found him. Her fist wrapped around him and the tight feel of her soft palm brought a hiss from his throat. He pushed inside her hand once, twice, and then pulled out.

  She looked up, her smile sexier than hell, and her hand found him again. She ran one finger down the length of him until her fingers were under his balls, and she gently cupped them. He almost came from the tenderness of her touch.

  “Okay, they forgive you,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “My boys, they forgive you for the assault and battery the other day.”

  She laughed, her eyes bright, as her hand shifted up, tightening her fist around his dick again.

  “That’s my limit.” His breath caught. He pulled out of her hand. “I’m holding out for something else.”

  “And what would that be?”

  He grabbed the rubber, and using his teeth, he opened the package and slipped it on. “This.” He picked her up a few inches and pressed her against the tiled wall. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” She did as he asked. He let her down slowly until his shaft found her tight opening, still slick with desire.

  “This okay?” he asked, his voice coming out deep from the exquisite pleasure of entering her.

  She nodded.

  He shifted his hips, up and then down, moving deeper, finding the rhythm, while keeping his balance. His pleasure built, his lungs refused air, yet he held back from finding his own sweet release until he knew she’d found hers.

  She let out another little mewing sound, one he now suspected she did each time she came. He pushed in her two more times and found his own heaven. The sheer pleasure spread through him with such force, he feared he would drop her.

  Focusing on keeping her up, he held her against the shower wall, kissing her with everything he had. She let her legs down. He lowered her slowly, keeping his arms around her.

  She looked up. His breath caught at the sight of tears in her big blue eyes.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Fine.” And as if to prove it, she smiled. He reached up and brushed a tear from her lashes.

  “Good tears?” he asked, the breath still hitched in his chest.

  “Good tears,” she said.

  He brushed another tear away. Good or not, he didn’t like seeing them. And damn if he didn’t remember what Turner had said about meeting the right person. You meet her, and one minute she’s just a beautiful woman that you’d like to take to bed, and then it’s like lightning strikes, and all you know is that you’d walk in front of a firing squad to protect her.

  “That was awesome,” he said.

  Chloe bit down on her bottom lip, still wet with his kiss. She nodded.

  He leaned down and kissed her again, soft, sweet, and suddenly worried if shower sex had been the best move for a first time. Some women wanted it slower. Fine, he told himself, he had to work harder on the second, he told himself. “Thank you.”

  “I’m the one who should say thank you,” she said. “I mean, if we’re keeping score, I’m two to your one.”

  “We’ll work on that.” He laughed, and didn’t even know why, other than he was just happy. Hell, he hadn’t realized he hadn’t felt this in a long time.

  He took her hand and led her out of the bathroom, heading to the king-sized bed he’d spotted in a room as they came into the bathroom. With only one condom left, he wanted to make it count. This time, he wanted to more than double her score. A few ideas of just how he’d do that played across his mind and his southern regions were already feeling the lure.

  She stopped him before entering through the door. “No. That’s my mom’s room.” She pulled him down the hall and led him into another room. A smaller room and a twin size bed.

  He looked back at her. “Hmm . . .
a little small.”

  She made a cute face. “So size matters?”

  Another bolt of laughter bubbled out of him. “Come on. We’ll just have to get creative.”

  • • •

  Chloe had a feeling when he said, ‘get creative,’ he wasn’t talking about sleeping. Then he swooped her up in his arms.

  “Put me down, you’ll hurt your leg. You could have already hurt yourself with what you did in the shower.” She wasn’t certain his doctor’s orders said ‘no shower sex,’ but she’d bet they said no vigorous exercise. That had been pretty vigorous. It had been . . . beyond awesome.

  And scarier than hell. Because . . . because all she could think about was how she’d told him that she didn’t require promises and how right now she’d give anything to take that back.

  And it wasn’t the sex. Not that it hadn’t been amazing—or the best she’d ever had. It had been. But what she wanted to latch onto and never let go of, was what led to the sex. How he’d made her feel . . . treasured. The way he’d listened to her talk about her dad. The way he’d told her about his mom dying. The way, in spite of getting shot at, they had laughed all night, and even shared painful memories.

  “My leg’s fine,” he said, and lowered her on the bed, putting his left knee on the mattress. “Which side do you sleep on?”

  “The left,” she said.

  “Then I’m sleeping on the left with you,” he said, sounding almost giddy as he dropped down and pulled her against him. His still damp chest felt so warm to her back. She realized she hadn’t even offered him a towel.

  He nipped at her neck playfully. And even laughed again.

  She closed her eyes and swore to deal with this like an adult—she’d enjoy every moment she had with him. She refused to go ‘girlfriend crazy’ on him. But a sad thought hit. Was he always this happy after sex, or was he happy because he’d been completely upfront and told her he was a love and leave ’em kind of guy, and she’d practically given him permission to do just that?

  No regrets, she told herself. Just enjoy it.

  • • •

  Right before Pablo and a few other gang members got to his truck, J.D. got it started. Now he had a bullet hole in the truck bed, but he was alive. And he’d gotten what he’d come for. Wasn’t that what mattered?

  J.D. had been afraid to go back to his grandmother’s place. What if Carlos had told Jax where he was staying? J.D. didn’t believe his friend would do it, but if they were hurting him too badly, he might not have had a choice.

  But after a few hours of trying to sleep in his truck on some back road, he decided to chance it. As crazy as it sounded, it wasn’t just because it felt like home, but because of that stupid angel stain on the ceiling. It made him feel better.

  He drove by the house twice, making sure no one waited in the shadows. Finally, he pulled in the driveway and parked his truck in the back. He pulled his phone off the charger.

  He retrieved the key from under the cement block and opened the door. But he just stood there. The dark silence sent a chill down his spine.

  Suddenly remembering Carlos, he checked his phone to see if Moses had called. Still nothing. Surely Carlos was out of surgery. Wasn’t he?

  J.D. stood on the porch, listening before he ventured in.

  Not a sound echoed from within the house, so he moved in and shut the door. Walking first into the living room, he looked where his grandmother’s chair used to be. Where he would find her most of the times he came home. She would smile up at him and always ask if he was hungry.

  She sucked at cooking, but he never complained. He would eat whatever she dished up. Then she’d make him drink milk because she said it was good for his bones. He didn’t like milk, and sometimes when she’d walk out of the room, he poured it down the sink.

  Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite, she would always tell him before he went to bed. She never gushed about loving him, but somehow he knew she did. She must have. The state hadn’t made her take him. She’d even refused to take the government’s money. He’s my grandson. No government is gonna pay me to take care of him.

  His throat knotted, remembering the one time he’d told her he loved her. The morning he’d gotten up and found her on the living room floor. He had known something was wrong when he first woke up, because he hadn’t smelled breakfast.

  Now, looking around the room, he shifted slightly to stand in the same spot where she had lain that morning.

  He’d called 9-1-1. And he sat beside her. She’d been alive, though she hadn’t been able to talk. He’d held her hand. And for some crazy reason, the words just left his mouth. “I love you. You’re gonna be okay.”

  He was pretty sure she understood, because she’d squeezed his hand. And he didn’t let go of her either. Not even when she stopped squeezing. When she stopped breathing. It had been the ambulance drivers who made him let her go.

  Inhaling, he walked back into his bedroom. His gaze lifted to the ceiling. He couldn’t make the angel out, but he trusted she was there. She had to be. And he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been there with him when the gang members had come shooting . . . if she was the reason he’d suddenly been able to fit the key in the ignition.

  He moved toward the wall beside the window and found the loose piece of wood. He pulled it up, exposing his secret hiding spot. He’d hidden a lot of things in there: cigarettes, weed, condoms, Playboy magazines. Even the few pictures of his dad, who’d died before J.D. was born, that his grandmother had given him after he’d moved in with her.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out what he’d taken from Pablo. He placed it into the little hole and refitted the board—even stepped on it to make sure it went all the way down. That hiding spot had held a lot of things, and now it held the evidence that would hopefully make Jax pay.

  He’d already checked Pablo’s phone. The video was still there. Pablo hadn’t filmed the actual shooting, but the moment right afterward. It showed who all had been present. Him included. He didn’t care. He’d pay for his deeds, as long as Jax paid for his.

  Kneeling down, he ran his hand over the piece of wood, checking one more time that it wasn’t noticeable. If the gang leader or one of his guys came looking for J.D., they wouldn’t find the phone. But if something did happen to him, no one would know to look for the phone. He needed to tell someone where the phone was and what it had on it. He had to tell that cop—the one he’d shot—but the guy hadn’t returned the favor. He hadn’t shot J.D. even when he’d had the chance.

  He grabbed his phone and went to search for the number to the Glencoe Police Station. The cop might not be working, but maybe he had a voicemail where J.D. could leave a message.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Sun, bright sun, seemed to sneak beneath her lashes to pull her from a peaceful slumber. Even still asleep, Chloe recognized she was at home . . . home in her old room.

  Her old twin bed.

  Her old pillow.

  Her old sheets.

  Then a body—a male body with a certain growing male part—wiggled against her bare ass.

  She let out a muffled scream.

  She jackknifed out of bed, dragging the sheet and pillow with her.

  She stood, buck naked, staring at the equally naked and startled man with an erect penis.

  “What’s wrong?” Cary sat up.

  She put a hand over her heart. “Sorry. I . . . I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?” he asked, looking concerned.

  She drew another gulp of oxygen in her mouth, hoping to calm her pounding heart. “You.”

  His brows wrinkled. “You . . . forgot me?”

  She nodded. “But now I remember.” Boy howdy, did she remember. The shower sex. The amazing hour afterward when he had . . . and she had . . . Oh, goodness.

  Kneeling down, she grabbed the sheet. She started to cover herself and her gaze went back to his perky body part saluting the ceiling. Memories from earlier flooded her head, ma
king her blush.

  Decision made, she tossed him the sheet and grabbed the pillow at her feet, positioning it to cover most of the embarrassing parts.

  He continued to look concerned for another second. Then a slow sexy smile appeared on his lips. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Her gaze shot to the window, bright sun spilled in to cast fluttery shadows on the old oak floor. She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s almost afternoon.”

  “I know, I didn’t think you’d ever let me go to sleep.”

  She blushed again.

  He scooted off the bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist, and stood. He eased close, put his forehead against hers. “I’ll give you fifty bucks for that pillow.”

  “I . . . I need coffee.”

  “Coffee sounds good.” He dropped the sheet.

  Remembering her mom’s gown was in the living room, she started out.

  He whistled and she yanked the pillow behind her to cover her backside. His laughter followed her out into the hall.

  She heard his footsteps behind her, and all of a sudden, his cheery mood seemed contagious. She moved into the living room, a smile pulling at her lips. Or it did until she saw her mom standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a cup of hot tea in her hands taking in the view of her daughter. Naked as the day she was born.

  She yanked the pillow to cover her front and then a very-naked, still-aroused Cary stopped beside her. He needed the coverage more than her. She slapped the pillow over his happy penis.

  “Good morning,” her mom said, looking rather amused.

  “Good morning,” Chloe squeaked, then she turned around without a stitch on clothes on and went back to her bedroom. When she looked back, Cary followed her, now holding the pillow behind him.

  He shut the door, his eyes met hers, and just like that, they both burst into laughter.

  • • •

  J.D. walked out to his truck to finish the bag of chips he’d bought yesterday and to charge his phone. He’d left a message last night on that cop’s voicemail. He’d kept it short and sweet. Told him he had something they might need to help solve his case. Told him it was under a piece of loose wood in his grandmother’s house in the smaller bedroom.