Reviving Haven

by CORY CYR

  I want to be compliant because I’m afraid he’ll take this too far.

  My body instantly recognizes his scent. And no matter how afraid I am, my response to him is immediate. Even though I’m furious with him and know this is wrong, I can’t stop myself because I love him. My hands go through his hair as a shudder runs down my spine. A moan comes from my throat as he deepens the kiss, running his hand down my back and settling on my ass. His breathing is shallow and fast. I can feel Latch’s erection pressing against my stomach. My thoughts and my feelings are making me feel uncomfortable. My brain is dictating one thing, but my body hungers for another. I cry silently, realizing that I too am addicted—addicted to Latch. I pull away from the kiss, panting.

  “No, we have to stop. I can’t do this with you. Not now.”

  I push him back lightly. He yanks me back into his arms.

  “I know how you liked it, with him,” his voice goes husky. I look at him, confused.

  “Maybe you like it a little rough?” he says, biting my bottom lip until I taste blood.

  Adrenaline courses through my body and I push him backwards towards the fountain. I’m furious.

  “You interpreted what I wrote in my journal to mean that I liked it? I wanted it? I asked for it? God, I fucking hate you right now.”

  My fists are clenched on both sides of my body and I’m sure my face is red from fury, not embarrassment. Latch moves from the fountain to close the space between us, his face a mask of resolve. I take a step back. Soon, his body is so close to mine, I can feel his breath prickling on my neck as his hand caresses my cheek.

  “I want to fuck you, leannán,” he whispers, bending his head to lick the valley between my breasts.

  Latch looks up from my cleavage, his eyes filled with wicked intent.

  “Latch, please.”

  This time I shove him back with force. He stumbles, catching himself before he falls, then turns back to me. His face contorts with rage. I have pissed him off. In his inebriated state, there’s no way to tell how far he’s willing to take this. Latch strokes his hands up and down my arms and my body shivers from his touch. And then, I realize the truth, the crux of the matter, and it strikes me a blow that cuts me to the quick.

  Since the beginning, I have given Latch free license to do anything and everything to me. My love for him has allowed this. I have pretended to ignore the obvious—that we’re both dependent on each other as well as other things. It just never occurred to me that he is as fucked up as I am.

  For a moment, I let his warmth touch me, stimulate me, turning my core to liquid fire. I am too lost in the moment to recognize the change in Latch’s body language. Without any warning, he pushes my gown up to my waist and then rips off my panties. The act is so sudden and I cry out from surprise. His eyes show no reaction, just dark, empty, and not caring at all. This callous act, devoid of anything remotely connected to the feelings we are supposed to have for each other, absolutely paralyzes me. But the mad glint in his eyes tells me he’s not done yet.

  He spins me so I’m facing the fountain as he moves behind me. His fingers reach around me, penetrating my sex. My eyes stay glued straight ahead and I sob quietly.

  “You’re wet, leannán.” There’s a deep satisfaction in his voice.

  I can’t deny it. My body will always respond to this man and I hate myself because of it. As he drags his fingers along my slit, I can feel his engorged length pressing into my back. A soft moan leaves my lips as Latch rubs his thumb back and forth over my clit.

  “Let me fuck you, Haven,” he whispers. His breath brushes the inside of my ear, causing my nipples to harden and brush the material of my bra, heightening my sensitivity. “I know you want me.” His breathing is choppy and uneven, as if he’s losing complete control of himself.

  And that’s what I fear the most right now.

  “Not like this, Latch. Please,” I plead.

  He removes his fingers from my sex as he pushes my dress up farther with one hand. I hear his zipper. I feel his shaft pulsing against my ass. I need to see him, to face him, to help him see that it’s me. His Haven. I try to turn around, but he forcefully keeps me pinned so my back is to him. My arms ache from where he’s grabbing me. I attempt once again to face him, but he won’t relinquish his hold.

  “I don’t want to look at you,” he hisses under his breath.

  I start to speak but then he slides into me. A whimper escapes my lips as I brace myself on the fountain for the next thrust. Latch has one hand securely holding my neck as he buries himself deeper into me. He grunts as he continues his unrelenting rhythm of deep penetrating thrusts. My eyes fill with tears from the pain, from the knowledge that I also feel pleasure, and I’m ashamed. My body seems to have a mind of its own as I lean back into him. He continues to thrust deeper and harder. His hand is still around my throat while the other one is around my waist, holding me in place as he continues to drive into me.

  My core muscles clamp down on Latch’s length, and I feel so hot and tight. It causes Latch to jackhammer into me with faster, punishing strokes. The dark pleasure shoves me over the edge and, as I fly apart in his grip, it’s so intense that if Latch wasn’t holding me, I think I would collapse.

  “I love you,” I finally say, but it’s barely a murmur.

  His hand on my throat slightly relaxes. But after a few moments, his grip on my neck tightens again and I feel Latch’s shaft throb. His climax, hot and searing as it surges into me, fills me up and consumes me. His breathing starts returning to normal. We stand there, my back still to him. He takes his hand from around my throat, and I hear the sound of his zipper as he pulls it up.

  His lips skim my ear and he whispers, “Keep the necklace—you earned it.” And just like that, he’s gone.

  I stand there, shaken, frozen, putting my hands on the edge of the fountain to steady myself. Then as the reality of what just happened between us settles in, I crumple to the ground. Tears start to stream down my face. I have no will to stop the outpouring of grief and loss I am feeling. I play what happened in my head over again. I feel sick and there’s a burning in my throat as I vomit onto the ground. My dress is now a disarray of blood, semen and vomit. My only thought is to get away. I need to leave, right now. I push myself up off the ground and try to fix my hair. I pull down my dress and adjust it as much as I can. Hopefully, I can get out of here without anyone seeing the mess covering this dress. I pick up my torn panties and shove them into my purse. I take out my compact and attempt to clean up my raccoon eyes and the smudges on my face. I use the underside of my dress since it’s ruined anyway.

  With my cell phone in hand, I send Weezie a text to meet me outside. I’m sure she is fairly intoxicated by now, and I pray she won’t notice my disarray. I move along the pathway, finding my way to the courtyard. I see Latch among the guests. He’s standing with Krystella. He has a drink in one hand and her ass in the other. She’s laughing and talking as she leans into him.

  My heart sinks. It was all a ruse; he never loved me. I was just another one of his women. It had been a game to him. I meant nothing. It all had been a lie. I will myself not to cry again. I will never shed another tear for Latch McKay.

  I make my way through a gate, finding myself heading toward the front of the estate. I can see Weezie. Oh no, Keenan is with her.

  “Hey, I need to go home,” I say, quickly smiling and then turning away.

  Weezie comes closer to me and begins to survey me. Her lips twist into a tight grimace.

  “What the hell?” she yells, taking a closer look as she inspects me.

  Keenan touches my arm, causing me to flinch. His face fills with concern and regret.

  “What is this, Haven?” Weezie demands. “Who did this?”

  “It’s not what you think.” I try to act casual, but I’m deeply conflicted about Latch and his actions.

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure it is what I think. That son of a bitch, I will kill him myself— Latch should have just ended
his ass,” Weezie spits out.

  Dammit . . . it’s clear as day in my head now—Weezie thinks Jared did this.

  “Weezie, please . . . Jared didn’t do anything, I swear. I haven’t even seen him since . . . well, since he got his ass beat,” I reply, afraid to look her in the eyes.

  Weezie stands there thinking about what I just told her. I can feel her wrath, her confusion. Keenan has an air of hostility circulating around him. He whispers something to Weezie that makes her eyes go wide and fill with tears. Weezie never cries. Keenan gently pushes Weezie to one side and stands in front of me. He reaches out, turning my head then tilting up my chin until our eyes lock.

  “Did Latch do this?” His voice shakes as though he’s afraid to hear the answer.

  I blink several times. I bite my bottom lip, trying to cause enough pain to stop myself from crying.

  “I . . . I didn’t say no . . . I didn’t . . .” I stammer, my eyes staring at the ground.

  Keenan interrupts. “Did you ask for these?” His eyes graze the marks that are darkening into bruises on each of my arms.

  “Did you say yes to this?” He points to my neck.

  My fingers trace my neck, but I can’t feel anything. I pull out my compact to look. There are red welts from Latch’s hand.

  “He didn’t mean to do this. I pushed him.” A strangled cry leaves my mouth as I realize what I’m actually saying.

  “Quit making excuses for him, goddammit!” Keenan roars.

  This Keenan scares the hell out of me. Even Weezie takes a few steps back. He looks deranged.

  “Marlon will drive both of you home. I’ll take care of this. I’m done coddling his ass,” Keenan says in a deadly serious tone as he stalks away, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Thirty minutes later, we arrive home.

  “Do you want to talk about it, Haven?” Weezie asks, tossing her purse on the kitchen bar.

  I shake my head. All I want is a shower and my bed, in that order.

  I hate my life.

  I hate myself.

  I only wish I could hate Latch.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Latch

  I wake up to the worst taste in my mouth ever. My entire body feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. Hell, even my eyelashes hurt. I detest hangovers, and this one is a twelve on a scale of ten. I let out a groan, cracking one eye open in the process. Shit, I must still be fucked up because that looks like—

  “No, no, no . . . big fucking mistake . . .” My voice sounds strangled, as I look at Krystella, naked in my bed. I open my other eye and find myself surrounded by pink drapes, pink pictures, nothing but—pink, pink, and more pink.

  Wait! This isn’t my bed, or my house. I flip myself over abruptly, landing on my back and looking up at a ceiling full of smoky pink mirrors. This is her house—Krystella’s house.

  Oh, God, what the fuck did I do? Haven . . . I cringe, panic rolling over me in waves with the knowledge that I’ve been with someone else. This will kill her, unless she kills me first, or rather Weezie hunts me down and has my balls stuffed and mounted.

  A sigh comes from Krystella as she props herself up on one elbow, her enormous silicone boobs jutting straight out. She pulls the sheet to her feet. Yup, she’s naked, except for the teeny tiny G-string. I groan again, this time out of regret. I love Haven. She means everything to me. I would never hurt her—well, not intentionally. What the fuck did I do?

  Between the booze and the pills, I’m a mess. If I had any kind of backbone, I’d just admit my addiction, go into rehab and come out a rock star like everyone else. Honestly, I don’t see this as a problem. I can quit anytime. Keenan calls it denial and calls himself an enabler.

  I’m starting to think he’s right.

  I look at Krystella unhappily, pulling the sheet back up to cover her nakedness. She pouts, then looks at me and starts giggling hysterically. My eyebrow arches up. Holy mother of God, that fucking hurts; my entire face feels like it’s on fire. I jump out of bed and run straight into the bathroom, ignoring the fact that I am naked and hard as hell. Fuck!

  Another eruption of guilt ravages my body. I know this will crush any trust Haven has in me. My heart hurts. All I want is for her to love me. If she finds out about this, and she will, our relationship will be over.

  I grab a towel—Jesus, a fucking baby pink towel—and wrap it around my waist. Krystella has seen me naked many times, but I don’t want her getting any ideas. I pee, and my dick finally softens to its normal soft size. Then I take a look at myself in the mirror and recoil in shock. For a moment, my brain refuses to believe what my eyes are seeing. There’s a bruise covering half my face—no wonder it hurts like a bitch—and my left eye is every color of the rainbow. This is not an attractive look. I stand there trying not to be vain, but my face is marred. I mean really fucked up. How can I not remember this? And who in the hell hit me? Certainly not that asshole, Jared. I clearly remember kicking his ass. He didn’t even see it coming, so he never got the chance to retaliate. I do have a few enemies, but none of them would ever cross the line at a public event like my mother’s gala. Does Haven know this happened? Was she there? Was she hurt? Does she know about Krystella and me? Once again, I groan loudly.

  Krystella cracks the door open. At least she had some clothes on now, sort of. She’s still wearing her G-string, but at least she’s covered her 44 DD’s with a shirt. I roll my eyes—fuck that hurts!—as I put my mouth under the faucet for a drink.

  “I have bottled water in the kitchen, you know,” she offers, leaning against the door and licking her lips as if I’m brunch.

  “I have to go. Jesus, where are my clothes?” I ask frantically.

  I dash back into the bedroom, wearing my baby pink towel with a scowl on my face. I feel panic and, well, more panic. This is the ultimate betrayal to Haven. If she finds out, she’ll hate me forever and I won’t blame her. If the tables were turned, I don’t even want to think about what I’d do. Krystella drags her long, fake fingernails down my back. I shake her off and glare at her.

  “Whatever happened, it was a mistake.” I’m angry. Not so much at Krystella, but more at myself for being such an asshole.

  Krystella chokes on a laugh. “Calm down, Latch. Nothing happened,” she admitted. “Not for my lack of trying, of course, but you wouldn’t fuck me. Normally, sucking a guy’s cock does the trick. But since blowjobs never really got you off, I didn’t even try. Honestly, after Keenan punched your lights out, you were done anyway.” There’s a satisfied grin on her face.

  “Wait . . . what . . . we didn’t fuck? Really?” I didn’t mean it to sound so gleeful.

  “God, don’t sound so happy about it. You know how many men would love to fuck me?” She leans against the bedpost and pushes her boobs out.

  “Well, yeah, okay, but you know I’m with someone, right?” I say, absolutely relieved with the knowledge that I didn’t touch the manipulative witch.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . evidently you must love her because you wouldn’t even kiss me,” she replies.

  I turn toward Krystella as I find my clothes. “What did you mean when you said Keenan punched me?” I ask, my clothes bundled in my arms as I head towards the bathroom.

  “Really, Latch, I’ve seen your dick plenty of times. You don’t have to hide in my bathroom to dress,” she calls out from the other side of the bathroom door. I can hear her snicker, like I’m the biggest fucking joke in the world. “I don’t know what went down at that party, but Keenan was really pissed at you. You guys were talking, and then yelling, and then he pounded on you for at least ten minutes.”

  I charge out of the bathroom dressed in the poorest excuse for a tux ever. Wrinkled, dirty, stained and torn. Wonderful—I look exactly as I feel. One hot mess.

  Why did Keenan, my best mate, someone who’s like a brother to me, fuck me up? What did I do? Keenan hardly ever gets angry. And in almost fifteen years, I have never seen him get physical with anyone.

 
; “Where’s my phone?” I demand rather than ask while slipping into my shoes.

  “Did you check your pants pocket?” Krystella answers, clicking her nails. That’s one of many things she does that fucking annoys the hell out of me.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, many phone numbers on little slips of paper, and a small baggie of white pills. Shame racks me. Yet there it is, the hunger—a desire for the pills. My hangover is so bad, just one will help. Just one. I choke down the thought and shove the baggie back into my pocket. As I cross the room, I crumple up the phone numbers and toss them into the pink trashcan. Then I dial Keenan’s number.

  “What do you want, Latch?” Keenan snaps into the phone, sounding pissed off.

  “What the fuck, bro? Come and get me,” I reply, sounding equally pissed.

  There’s dead silence on Keenan’s end. And for a brief moment, I think he’s disconnected.

  Keenan clears his throat. “Where are you?”

  Fuck. I don’t really want to tell Keenan I’m at Krystella’s, especially since there’s a good chance Keenan is going to talk to Weezie again.

  “Nothing happened, man. I swear to God,” I blurt out.

  “Where the fuck are you, Latch? If you want me to pick your ass up, you’re going to have to be specific,” Keenan demands.

  “I’m at Krystella’s,” I whisper. I can almost sense the shitstorm over the phone.

  “YOU REALLY ARE AN ASSHOLE!” Keenan yells.

  “I told you, NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED! Just pick me up!” I yell back.

  “How could you possibly know that—whatever, I’m on my way, be outside.”

  “Are you planning to hit me again?” I ask.

  “I make no promises,” Keenan responds before the phone goes dead.

  I grab my jacket and run out the door. I stand outside waiting for Keenan in just my shoes, pants and my light green shirt that’s open and blowing in the breeze. I couldn’t find my tie, my socks or my briefs. Thirty minutes later, Keenan drives up. He doesn’t get out of the car. The passenger door opens from the inside.