by Doyle, Dawn
Quinn’s hips pressed forward, completely filling me, the pressure of his cock inside me almost too much to bear.
He released his breath when our bodies joined. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned. His arms shook as they held him up on his elbows, and when he eased down on top of me, his heart beat against my chest, strong and fast.
He moved, pulling back a little, then pushing in. He continued like that, the pain making me grind my teeth together, and I focused on Quinn being the one inside me. Just small movements, but enough to make my core ignite once more, surprising me that I could be on the brink so soon after coming harder than I’ve ever done, and I knew my body. I didn’t think it was possible, but as Quinn slid in and out of me, my eyes fluttered, and my chest tightened. Every nerve ending sparked again as though flickering back to life, the pain easing away as he glided through my wetness, grating against my nub with every movement. Fire licked at my skin, the furnace deep in my belly ready to blow.
“Yes,” I whispered against him, sharing his air as he took shaky breaths in time with mine.
I bit down on my bottom lip when the pressure inside my core began to break free, still building higher and higher as Quinn’s thrusts increased, faster and faster, his hips hitting against me every time.
“Kinny,” he groaned, his voice tight. “Fuck!” He gripped my thigh, lifting it up higher around his waist, the angle sending him deeper inside me.
That was all it took to throw me over the edge. I gripped his arms tightly, my head fell back, and a high-pitched wail flew out of my mouth in a garbled mess of chants as I came again.
Quinn tensed, his lips hard against my neck as he thickened inside me, his cock pumping, slamming into me again and again.
We exhaled as Quinn slowed down, his movements decreasing until he finally stopped. He leaned down and kissed my nose, making me smile.
A car pulling into the drive had us snapping to attention.
“Shit, my mom!” I whisper shouted.
Quinn pulled gently out of me, making me hiss, and I jumped up to run to my bathroom, scrambling for my clothes on the way. “Nice tattoo,” he said just before I shut the door.
“Thank you!” I called out, wondering what the fuck I was going to do. That’s when I noticed the warmth sliding down my inner thighs, off-white tinged with red. “Oh, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked on the other side of the door as I cleaned myself up.
I pulled it open a little. “No condom,” I said, looking pointedly to his now jean covered crotch, the bulge there very much evident even afterward.
He turned around to grab his T-shirt, and I saw the massive tattoo across his broad, sinewy back. A giant raven, its wings out in flight, was inked right across the upper part, while its head dipped down onto his spine. The shading was so graphic it appeared to stand proud of his skin, its feathers reflecting light, and its talons gripping into the surface.
“I’m clean,” he said, pulling it over his head, hiding his magnificent torso. “I get tested regularly because of the fights.”
My stomach bottomed as I remembered the reason for our situation. “Of course. I’m also clean.” I nodded quickly. “Just in case you didn’t know.”
He smiled. “If I didn’t think that, we wouldn’t have fucked.”
Fucked. Right.
It didn’t feel like that, but he was right. Nothing about our situation was normal, and what had just happened between us wasn’t ‘special.’ We’d been two people that had just enjoyed having sex; it was no more than that.
The front door clicked shut, followed by footsteps on the stairs. Quinn sat down at the desk, and I straightened my covers, hiding the evidence, then grabbed my things just in time for the door to open.
“Hi, everything going okay?” my mom asked, her eyes taking in Quinn, then the rest of the room.
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, wondering if my hair looked like Quinn had just made me see stars… Twice.
My mom focused a little too hard on Quinn, who’d stretched his long legs out, relaxing back in my chair with his book in his hands. “Okay, then, I’m going to put my things away.” She took her sweet time leaving the room.
Before the door closed, Quinn closed his book. “I should go,” he said, sliding his arms into his jacket. “I’ve got some stuff to do.” He picked up his things and shoved them in his backpack.
I climbed off the bed, followed him out of the room as best as I could with the throbbing between my legs, then down the stairs. He opened the door, stepped out, then turned around. “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, checking to see if my mom was there, and saw she was slowly coming down the steps.
Quinn noticed her, then took a step toward me. His mouth opened and closed as though he was trying to say something, but couldn’t get it out. Then he huffed a breath. “Bye, Kinny. See you at school.”
I lifted my hand on autopilot and waved as he backed his motorcycle out of our drive. “Yeah, bye,” I mumbled, then turned back into the house.
“Is he okay?” my mom asked.
I headed back up to my room. “I have no idea, Mom.”
“He had his shirt on backward,” she yelled.
“No, he didn’t, but nice try,” I called back, hoping that I was right.
I reached my room and went to my closet, pulling out the only thing I could think of right then. I pushed my arms into the too-long sleeves and zipped up the hoodie, inhaling Quinn’s smell. I lay on my bed where we’d been, the smell there more intense.
What the hell has just happened?
Chapter 10
Quinn
Fucked.
It was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t stop it from coming out of my mouth. But what else was there to say? We made love? Fuck no. Had sex? A little better, but what happened the other night was something else, and it was fucking with my damn head. I hadn’t felt like that after Phoebe, and I didn’t know what the fuck was up with me. Hell, I was still coming to terms with how much Kinsley had me aching for her from just her hand on my bare skin.
Then there was the matter of what I’d seen afterward.
“Earth to Quinn,” Josh said, tapping me on the head. “Come in, Quinn.”
“Fuck off,” I snapped as I bound my hand. “I’m too busy for your stupid ass right now.”
“What the fuck is that?” he asked, and I saw him gesture to my wrist. “Are you growing your hair out like a pussy?”
“No.” I slid Kinsley’s hair tie off of my wrist and put it next to me. It was the first time I’d taken it off since I put it there in her room. I hadn’t told Josh or Layton where I’d gone. They’d assumed I was visiting my mom’s grave, and I felt sick to my fucking stomach that I’d cast Kinny aside and agreed with them.
But it’s none of their business, and it was nothing, anyway. Just sex. That’s all.
If that was all, then why was my head up my own ass?
“I’m going to grab some water. You good doing that?”
I nodded, then he left me alone. I had to get my head on right before fighting at the circle. Big money was on this match, and I had to get my shit together before I went in there.
My phone beeped beside me on the bench, and I snatched it up, my pulse spiking as I checked the screen, but deflated when I saw the name.
Layton.
‘I got you a present.’
I centered myself before I replied.
‘What did you get for me?’
‘Take a look at this. I hope it’s what you wanted.’
An image followed, and for the first time in two days, I fucking smiled. There, walking out of Crosshall Brow college, was Owen Stanford. The sick fuck extraordinaire was wearing a fucking blazer and slacks, his short, mousey hair neat, tidy, and slicked over like a preppy bastard. His holier-than-thou smile was aimed at an older woman walking next to him, holding her nose in the air like she shit out rose petals.
‘And it’s not even my birthday.’
�
��Enjoy, cuz. I’ll have the package prepped and ready in just over a week.’
He was back calling me blood, but for how long? Until he got it into his head again that I’d replaced him when Ginny had signed those papers?
I typed back.
‘You did good, Layton. Now get your ass home.’
‘Already halfway there.’
I shivered, the anticipation of what was to come coursing through my veins, and it wasn’t the fight that was happening. It was making that fucker pay for even breathing in the same space as Kinny and worse for laying his dirty, abusive hands on her. I knew plenty of abusive people, but there was one man that I hated above all others.
“Ellie, get your ass out here!” my dad yelled again, and my mom ran through to the living room from the kitchen where she’d been making dinner.
“Yes, honey?” she asked, her voice quivering as she approached my dad in his armchair, his paunch sticking out over his brown belt.
Typical drunk with his dirty, grubby wife-beater and too-small beige shorts.
“Get me a beer,” he demanded, and my mom nodded and rushed past me, out of the room. “And some chips!”
I picked up my toy motorcycle, my prized possession, and clutched it to my chest, my eight-year-old body tensing up at my dad’s yelling.
“Here, you are, Roy,” my mom said, handing him a brown bottle and a large yellow bag of chips as noise blared out of the TV, some football game showing that he’d grown angrier at every time the crowd roared.
I didn’t know what happened; I wasn’t allowed to watch. Mom took me out of the room when my dad sat in his chair.
I jumped, my arms clenching to my body, my heart galloping like horses racing inside of me. I tried to be quiet when I gasped as I heard the loud crack.
My mom’s hand flew to her face, her eyes watering again, the same way I saw them every day.
“Be quicker, you dumb bitch!” my dad yelled, raising his hand again. He crossed it over his body, then the back of his hand whooshed toward my mom, the back hitting her across the face again. “Can’t you see I’m watching the damn game?”
“Yes, I-I’ll do better, honey,” she stuttered, her watery eyes wide and her shoulders up.
My dad hit her a lot, and when her shoulders went up like that, and her eyes went big, it meant she would do things so fast like she was superwoman, rushing around and making everything just right so dad wouldn’t get angry.
“Quinn,” she whispered, ushering me out of the room.
I wouldn’t let go of my motorcycle, it was my favorite. All black with silver flames on the sides, and I was going to get one just like it when I was all grown up.
My mom took my arm, guided me out of the room, and down the narrow hall to my bedroom. It was blue, like the sky with yellow stripes around the middle, but it was all old now. It’d been like that when I was a baby, but my dad wouldn’t let my mom change it. He’d said it was a waste of money.
“I’ll be quiet, Momma,” I said, whispering just like she had. “I won’t make him mad.”
Tears ran down her face even though she smiled at me, her watery eyes, just like mine, warm as she stroked my hair. “My baby Quinn,” she said softly. “Could you be a good boy for me and stay in your room?” I nodded quickly. I’d do anything for her; she loved me more than anything in the world. She told me so herself.
“Yes, Momma,” I replied, then jogged over to my bed, jumping on top and zooming my bike through the air, making quiet motorcycle sounds like I’d heard down the street.
“That’s my sweet boy,” she said, her lips growing wider, her straight teeth shining white. “Now, make sure you do like we talked, okay?”
I nodded again and grabbed the earphones that made everything quiet. When she left, though, I took them off. I’d done that before. I didn’t like what I heard, but I had to.
My mom cried out as a loud slapping noise came from the living room. “Please!’ she begged. “Quinn’s only a little boy!”
“He’s gonna be a fucking man,” my dad yelled back, followed by a crash. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t grow up to be some pansy-ass like you’re making him out to be.”
Another loud crash, then a boom sounded. I sat still on my bed, shivering, scared, wondering if my mom was okay. I couldn’t go out; she told me to stay. I had to stay because I was a good boy for my momma.
Momma told me to stay…
That was the last time I saw my momma smile. I missed her smiles. Not seeing her made me cry, and I had to do it in secret because Dad said boys don’t cry. Boys who cry need to be taught what it was to be a man.
I pounded my fist into the bag as I remembered all the times my dad had laid into my mother, his hands slapping her, his fists driving into her tiny body, making her bleed, breaking her more and more every day. Then when she was gone, I took her place.
“I hate you,” I growled, imaging his face there as I slammed my hands into it over and over again, finding the fuel I needed to push through the pain of all the years I’d lived under that roof.
“Fucker!” I yelled, kicking the shit out of the sides of the bag where there were numerous indents from months of my attacks. “You fucking bastard.” I drove my hands into the canvas over and over, the exertion causing me to break out in a sweat. The droplets fell from my hair, down my face, and from the tip of my nose. But I couldn’t stop.
I had to get out the aggression that was holding me down, sucking me under and suffocating me until I couldn’t breathe, my lungs burning, my muscles aching with so much exertion I could barely lift my hands.
“Keep going, you pansy-ass,” I demanded, repeating the words no little kid should hear and lifted my hands again. “Don’t fucking stop.”
Only my deep breaths made a sound in the dark basement. The sunlight had gone from the small window, and the overhead lamps hadn’t been switched on. Darkness surrounded me, blinding me, making it impossible to see my hands in front of my face.
I felt for the bag, listening to the quiet squeak of the chain on the hook attached to the overhead ceiling beams, honing in on the direction of the swing.
I threw my fist forward, connecting with the bag. It swung again, and I listened, my senses heightened in the quiet, empty space. I threw another jab, followed by a fast one-two, each landing exactly where I wanted them to.
Minutes ticked by as I unleashed my anger, then I’d had enough. My exhausted limbs struggled to carry me up the stairs to the first floor, then dragged my sorry ass up more stairs, the striped carpet leading to my bedroom and a hot shower.
***
My hair was still wet when I slipped on my helmet, but when I took it off, there was barely a damp strand.
I cut the engine and rolled my bike through Hollow Tree Cemetery, turning down the last pathway to a row of oval-shaped headstones, stopping when I reached the one I wanted.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, sitting down on the grass over where she’d been laid to rest. I unwrapped the bouquet I’d bought earlier, removing the dead flowers from the vase, and replaced them with the lilies she’d loved so much. Orange, her favorites, as well as a mixture of white. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but you probably know why.” I chuckled to myself, then wiped the beginnings of moss away from her name. Ellie Dexter, Wife of Roy Tenant, Mother of Quinn Dexter.
I ran my fingers down the white stone and over the jagged gray lines, the newer marble I’d had replaced instead of the cheap-ass concrete my dad had paid to be placed there, making sure my name was the same as hers this time.
“So, I guess I have a few things to tell you,” I said, running my fingers over the blades. “Nah, you know already, I don’t have to say a word.” I smiled, but it fell as soon as my lips started to curl. “Mom, I don’t know what to do.” I rolled the black fabric-covered elastic on my wrist. “For the first time, I have no idea what I’m doing.” A gentle breeze picked up my hair, blowing it over my forehead and circled around my face. The chilly air of Fall whistled through
the trees nearby, shaking leaves from the branches.
I checked my watch, noting the time. More than an hour had gone by, and it was a little after midnight. Seeing those numbers on the screen had me thinking to when I’d seen Kinsley walking back from the movies after Phoebe had left her on her own. The same road my mom had taken her last breath.
I pressed my hand to the top of the ice-cold stone and looked down one last time. “I’ll be back soon, Momma,” I said, pulling back until my fingertips slipped from the marble. “I love you.”
***
I bounced from foot to foot, gearing myself up for the fight. I shook my arms and shoulders out, loosing up the tension in my tight muscles. I still hadn’t spoken to Kinny about that night—she hadn’t contacted me either—and I hadn’t slept too well replaying the details over and over. I’d had to relieve myself more than a few times, thinking about her soft skin, her tits that my hands couldn’t contain, and her warm center…
Fuck.
I dropped my head, screwing my eyes closed to focus on the damn fight I was getting ready for.
“If you need a massage to work out those kinks,” a sultry voice came from my left, “then I’m available.” I turned to see a red-head wink at me, her lips the color of her skin-tight dress. I looked ahead at nothing, taking in a breath. “I’m good with my hands and other parts of me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her licking her lips while looking down toward my dick. Without glancing in her direction, I said, “My girl can do all of that for me, and more.”
A pale hand snaked out, gesturing to the growing crowd, their voices carrying about who was going down tonight, and how much they had on the fight. “Is she here? Because I won’t tell if you won’t.”
