Tonic

by Staci Hart

  And then I did the unthinkable. I pushed my brain down the trash chute, let go of that doorknob, and spun around.

  Three steps and I was in his arms.

  Two heartbeats and I looked into his eyes.

  One breath and I kissed him.

  It was sweet relief, his lips against mine, lush and firm, his breath my breath. His tongue swept my bottom lip, and I let him in, wrapped my arms around his neck. I was surrounded by him, his arms around me, hands splayed across my back, clutching me into his hard chest, our lips a hard seam.

  I felt helpless and powerful, like I couldn’t stop whatever I’d started by kissing him, but like I could own him just as easily as I wanted him to own me.

  I didn’t know when he laid me down, but I was in the tattoo chair and he was on top of me. I felt the chair move, the back reclining until I was flat on my back, under Joel after all. The weight of him against me sent a moan past my lips, lips he nipped and sucked as his hands moved up my body and down, back up, into my hair, tugging at my bun. He hummed into my mouth when he slipped his fingers into the loosened strands, pressing his hips into mine.

  “Skin,” I muttered, fumbling for the hem of his shirt. “Give me skin.”

  He knelt on the bench, reaching between his shoulder blades for a fistful of cotton jersey, pulling it off so fast, I barely had time to get mine off. His hair had been knocked loose, his chest broad, waist narrow, every inch of skin covered in art. And then his hand cupped my cheek, and his lips were against mine, and I was lost, frantic, needing him, all of him, just as badly as I needed air. Like if I didn’t have him, I’d suffocate.

  His hot skin pressed against mine, our hips moving together in a long tease. There was only decision, a silent agreement that we wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop, not my hands that found the button of his jeans, then the zipper, not my hungry fingers as they slipped into his pants and closed around him. I couldn’t stop my lips as they flexed and eased, not my tongue as it tasted him, the sweetness of him. I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against his.

  He flicked the button of my pants open with two fingers and dropped my zipper, sliding his hands into my panties to palm me, to drag his finger up the center of me, to slip his finger inside.

  I gasped, my hand flying to his wrist, bracing myself against him, urging him on. I couldn’t think, my eyelids fluttering, neck arching. It had been so long since I’d been touched that, I’d forgotten just how much I needed it.

  My hands slipped into the back of his pants, thumbs hooking over the band, inching them over his ass, and he pulled back, chest heaving as he stood and dropped them. He grabbed my pants as I lay panting on the tattoo chair, yanked until they were a pile on the floor, and I unhooked my bra and threw it. The only thing left were my panties.

  “Off,” he growled as he picked up his pants and searched for his wallet, pulled out a condom, and threw the rest to leave it all abandoned on the floor, his eyes between my legs as I slid my black panties down until they fell next to his feet.

  For one long moment, we stared at each other — me stretched out on the chair, naked, exposed, him gripping his cock, eyes drinking me in. And then he sprang into motion, and before I could even react, he was kneeling in front of me, hands on my hips, sliding me down to crash into his mouth.

  I gasped, back snapping off the chair, eyes slamming shut as his mouth covered me, sucked, teased me with the flat of his tongue running up the line at my core, devouring me like I was the last he’d ever taste.

  I couldn’t breathe, my body no longer my own, but his. But I wanted more, I wanted it all.

  My hands were in his hair — I hadn’t realized I’d done it, but my fingers were twisted in his dark hair like reins. I relaxed them, pausing when he sucked again, pulling me into his mouth, demanding that I give him whatever he wanted.

  “Joel,” I breathed, and his eyes flew open at the sound of his name, though his lids were heavy. He let me go, climbed up my body, pausing over my breasts. I watched his hand, his dark skin against my white, the ink of him against the cream of me, the marked and the blank, and was overcome with need, with emotion that sprang from somewhere locked away. His thumb brushed my nipple, and he bowed his head, bringing his lips to the rosy skin, closing them to kiss me with an air of worship, and when he met my eyes, they were on fire.

  I felt him against me and spread my legs, needing him, waiting for him as he caged me in his arms, his lips a millimeter from mine, his crown a millimeter from pressing into me, and in the space of a breath, we connected. He filled me with the flex of his hips, his lips taking mine with the same motion, his tongue slipping deep into me just as the rest of him did.

  Release and flex. Then harder. Then it was desperate, our bodies waving together, our hands searching for something to hold on to. Another flex. Then again as my heart rushed in my ears, my breath shallow, my eyes closed as he pushed me faster, harder, my hips rebounding, pushing me into him by sheer force of gravity, of his gravity. And he moaned my name, filled me until he hit the end, rolled his hips against me, and I fell apart, gasping for breath, nails against his back like they’d stop me from falling.

  But it was too late. I’d already fallen, and there was no going back.

  PROMISES, PROMISES

  Joel

  I SLOWED MY BODY, AND she met my pace as I pressed my lips to hers, my hand finding the crook of her long neck, the skin so soft against the rough skin of my fingers. It was a deep kiss, a kiss that said it wasn’t a mistake, a kiss that sealed the deal on my heart.

  I pulled away after a moment so I could look into her eyes, and her lids opened slowly. The soft heat I found there didn’t last long enough, hardening and cooling as my brow dropped.

  She ran a hand down my chest and shifted, pressing gently, and I moved as much as I could in the chair, knowing she wanted up. And she bolted the second she was able.

  I lay in the chair, watching her bend to gather her clothes, watching her.

  “So …”

  She stepped into her panties, saying nothing.

  I waited all the same until she had on her bra and was scanning the floor for her pants.

  “Are we really not going to talk about this?”

  She picked up the black slacks and pulled them on, one leg at a time. “Not right now, no.”

  My eyes narrowed. I didn’t respond otherwise.

  She finally looked at me, her face still, hard, the mask in place. “I’ve got the crew standing outside on the sidewalk, that is, assuming they didn’t come back inside and hear what just happened. I’ve got to take care of my shit right now,” she said as she buttoned her pants and picked up her top.

  “But we will talk.”

  “Is there any other way with you?” She pulled her top over her head and combed her hands through her hair.

  I smirked at that. “No.”

  She almost smiled as she twisted her hair into a fresh bun. “Didn’t think so.” Her eyes moved down my body. “Planning on getting dressed?”

  I shrugged. “Think they’d suspect something happened if I walk out there like this?”

  “Hang on. Let me at least get the cameras rolling first,” she said, a smile playing on her lips again as she walked around the chair.

  I reached for her arm, sliding my fingers down her soft skin until they reached hers. “Promise me we’ll talk.”

  She took a breath, the ice in her eyes cracking for only a moment, her fingers flexing to squeeze mine. “Promise.”

  She let me go, and I felt the loss of the connection almost immediately.

  Her eyes ran over me again with a spark of admiration behind them. “You really should get dressed. If we don’t go out there together, they really will suspect something.”

  I smirked and stood, making sure she could catch all my good angles as I dressed, and once I pulled my boots on — I never really laced them up, something I was thankful for, given the urgency for needing to be naked a few minutes earlier. And with that, we
walked out of the room together.

  The shop was still empty, and to Annika’s credit, she was unfazed, her face hard and eyes steady. There was no smoothing of clothes or hair, no tell that she was uncomfortable. And maybe she wasn’t. There were two signs that reminded me of just how I’d taken her in the back of my shop. The pink in her cheeks, which had begun to ebb, a sight I was sorry to lose. And the other sign was one that I didn’t know if anyone else would recognize — a nearly imperceptible inclination to me, as if she were tuned into me, and I was tuned into her, like we were on a frequency all our own now. She walked a little closer than usual, and I could feel her in a way I hadn’t been able to before I’d tasted her, touched her.

  Now? Now I just needed to touch her again.

  But not yet.

  We walked out the front door to find everyone still on the sidewalk, except Patrick’s client. He gave me a look that said he’d explain later, and I nodded my understanding.

  Annika was all business, directing the crew, telling them to pack up for the night and take their film upstairs to start cutting. Anger flared in my chest at the realization that she was still going to use it. Of course she was. It was her job, after all. I pushed past the betrayal, reminding myself that she hadn’t known either, hoping she was telling me the truth. I honestly had no way of knowing, other than the look in her eyes. I trusted her that much, at least.

  The crew made their way into the shop with Patrick and I in their wake, Annika leading the charge. She directed them on what they should take, even though they probably already knew — it was something she could control, I sensed, something for her to do that displayed her power. I was sure she felt the eyes darting between us just as much as I did while I helped Patrick break down his station. I needed to keep my hands busy just as much as Annika needed to keep her mouth busy.

  I smirked at the thought of busy mouths and hands, and my worry about the situation dissipated.

  Once the crew had filed out, Annika apologized again brusquely, seeming to be for show in front of Patrick, but her eyes met mine for a long moment before she turned and left. I tried to see behind the veil, tried to guess what she was thinking, but it was lost on me. She told me she’d see me tomorrow and walked out, and all I could do was watch her go.

  Patrick turned to me the second the bell chimed, marking the closing of the door.

  “What the fuck, man?” he asked.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t even know.”

  “Did you—”

  “Yeah.”

  He gave me a look that was equal parts annoyance and understanding. “So what’s the deal?”

  “No idea. She didn’t hang around long enough to figure it out.”

  He flinched. “Ouch.”

  “I mean, there wasn’t much to be done just then, not with everyone standing outside waiting.”

  “True. Not gonna lie — it was an awkward ten minutes.”

  “Is that all it was?” I asked. “Huh. Felt longer.”

  He smirked. “I’m sure it did. I snuck in and grabbed Tony’s stuff, told him we’d just finish up next round.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t set you back too far, did I?”

  “Nah, we were almost finished. And anyway, you didn’t do anything.”

  “Well, I did, but I get your meaning. Hal.”

  “Hal,” Patrick echoed. “Did she set this up?”

  “She says she didn’t.”

  “And you believe her?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I do. Don’t really have a choice at this point but to have a little faith.”

  “A little faith is fine. A lot of faith could be a problem.”

  I took a heavy breath and let it out. “Guess we’ll see.”

  “You like her.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact as he saw it.

  “I do.”

  “That’s kind of a big deal.”

  I frowned. “I know. But it’s what it is.” I ran a hand through my hair, wondering what I was doing. “I’m not sure if I even know how to do this anymore.”

  He chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder. “It’s like riding a bike, Joel. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  I smiled, shaking my head, and we walked through the shop, shutting it down for the night. Patrick and I said goodnight on the sidewalk outside, and I turned for the short walk up the stairs to my apartment.

  I could still smell the sweetness of her perfume on me — honeysuckle? No, too sweet — and she filled my thoughts. The softness of her skin. Her face — no longer hard, but soft, open. There was another version of her, the one I’d only caught glimpses of, and it was more enticing that I could have imagined.

  Tomorrow.

  It was the soonest that we could talk, and the words were already scratching at my throat to get out.

  I paused at my door and glanced up, wondering if she was up there or if she’d gone home. Because if she were up there, we could talk tonight.

  But I sighed and unlocked my door, stepping into the dark apartment instead of climbing another flight to knock on the door. It wasn’t the time or place, and I wondered at what point we’d have an opportunity to talk as I tossed my keys on the table. I wouldn’t let it go too long — it was like a disease sometimes, my mouth, and it had a mind of its own. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.

  Shep wasn’t home — staying at Ramona’s for the night, I figured — and I walked through the quiet, dark room and into the bathroom without needing to see. I could have told you how many steps it was from my bed to the fridge (sixteen), the couch to the door (eight), the door to the bathroom (twenty-one), and when I clicked on the light, I found nothing new, except my reflection.

  I don’t know what it was, exactly, that was different. My eyes, maybe, which held a fire that hadn’t been there earlier. Or maybe it was the set of my jaw, somehow more determined than usual, or the little bit of flush in my cheeks that breathed an extra spark of life into my face. But it was there, all of it, the different-ness of it catching me by surprise.

  I looked away from the mirror and stripped down, turned on the shower and stepped in once it steamed. But I couldn’t wash her away — not even her scent, which somehow followed me through my apartment and into bed.

  And somewhere deep down, I knew it would be just as hard to shake her.

  LIZARD BRAIN

  Annika

  WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

  IF only my reflection could answer with the truth.

  I’d barely slept the night before, my brain whirring with questions and playbacks of what had gone down. Namely Joel.

  After I walked out of the shop, I climbed the stairs to the control room to get everyone going on editing. But the minute I saw him on film, his eyes full of fire as he got in Hal’s face, I had to get out of there. I was down the stairs in a flash, though I paused on the landing where his apartment was, momentarily caught in indecision as the urge to knock on his door overwhelmed me. He was in there, I knew it as much as I knew my own name, but if I put my knuckles to his door, we’d have to talk. And I wasn’t ready to talk.

  So I went home. I showered, scrubbing my skin as if it would bring me clarity. But it didn’t.

  As I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, I tried to collect my thoughts as they skittered around my head like pinballs, making noise every time they touched something.

  1) I made a mistake that could cost me my career. Ding da-ding.

  2) I didn’t regret it nearly as much as I should. Da-ding ding.

  3) His lips were the most fascinating things on the planet. Ding, ding, ding.

  4) I wanted those lips, that body, all of him again, as soon as possible. DING-DIDDLY-DING, HI-SCORE.

  As all the bells and lights went off in my brain, I felt sour, not elated. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Joel wasn’t supposed to happen, not only for myself, but for the show. I stood by the fact that he didn’t make any sense for me, not long term. But could I have something short term? Could I just lea
ve any other feelings out of it? Did I have any other feelings about him now?

  I searched my thoughts and realized that I did. I just didn’t know to what extent. I didn’t think of him as a boy-toy, with detached pleasure. The way he touched me, the way he looked at me — they hit me in a deep place in my heart.

  That realization scared me the most.

  I wanted to think this was just my lizard brain telling me to copulate with a male who was a genetic powerhouse. But it was more than that. And that was bad.

  Very bad.

  I also spent quite a bit of time wondering if the cameras set up in the shop had picked up any sounds of the foray. We hadn’t been overly loud, although I’d replayed our conversation before I kissed him — which wasn’t so quiet — and knew that if anyone could have heard that, they would have been able to deduce what had come after.

  But as I stood in front of my mirror that next morning, I didn’t have any answers, and I wasn’t ready to find them. I owed him a conversation I wasn’t ready to have. Because I didn’t know what to do with him, with us, and I knew he’d want answers. Joel was the kind of guy who had to have answers, which was especially annoying because, not surprisingly, I was exactly the opposite. I could go days without answers. Months even. But he’d never let me get away with it.

  I brushed my hair and parted it before pulling it into a low bun as Laney crossed my mind. She’d set Joel up, and she’d set me up by not telling me what was going on. I had no idea what the conversation I was about to have with her was going to look like, but I was pissed. She’d never done something like this before, but then again, she’d never had this much power before. I felt like another version of a meat puppet, and it didn’t feel good.

  Her words of warning about Joel rang in my ears — they were true. Eventually, there would come a time for me to choose, and I had a feeling that choice wouldn’t be easy or simple. What would I lose? Because I couldn’t have it all.