And I want him; I want all of him deep inside me right there and right then, more than I’ve ever wanted anything like that in my life. I’m tearing at his pants, thrusting my hands inside to wrap my fingers around his thickness as he hisses into my neck. I’m stroking him with one hand as I shove his pants down, and he’s stripping my panties off my legs. And then he’s right there between them, the head of him brushing against my lips and making me whimper.
There’s no foreplay here, and none necessary. Because this is the culmination of a year of teasing; a year of waiting and denying ourselves and lying to ourselves about wanting it in the first place. And when he rolls the condom over his throbbing hard cock and eases the head back into me, it’s like we’re right back where we were when it was good; right back to bliss.
My legs wrap around him, my arms clinging to his rippling back and shoulders, and with a growl, he’s buried every single inch of his cock inside me in one thrust. We cry out together, both of us missing this so much; both of us finding peace together after a year of denying it. And I’m clinging to him, moaning his name and loving the animal in his eyes as he drives into me again and again with powerful thrusts. I’m rocking my hips to meet him, feeling his muscled chest and abdomen pressing hotly against me, and when his hand drops to our joining and his fingers begin rub over my aching clit, I know I’m done.
When I come, it’s like everything held back for a year, and everything pent up before then even, comes pouring out of me at once, and I’m screaming into his mouth and losing myself in him as I feel him erupt inside of me.
And it’s perfect. After a year of being gone, a year of wandering with no map and no directions, I know I’m home.
She’s giggling later as I wrap her in the blanket and carry her back down to our room.
“What if someone sees us!” She hisses, shooting a look at my own totally naked body before jerking her head around at the totally empty hallway.
“Let ‘em see, then,” I grin. And in that moment, with this girl back in my arms like this, smiling at me like that, with her eyes flashing at me just like they used to, I honestly don’t care. Let them see our scars, our ink, and the stories writ upon our bodies.
We fucked on the roof, like making up for lost time. But as soon as I close the door to the room behind me, I know it’s going to be different this time. This time, I’m going to make love to her, and I’m going to take my time.
I’m lowering her down onto the bed, blankets and all, and just staring at this fucking angel laying back like she is, propped up on her elbows. My eyes follow the flowing inked lines of the sleeve tattoo that adorns her arm; past the words from the Warren Zevon song, around the etched outline of Texas, and even over the round scars that dot her skin - all parts of the stories that make this girl who she is, and part of what I fucking love about her. She gives me a strange, almost shy look as I stand there just taking her in, and she’s opening her mouth to say something but I just shake my head as I climb onto the bed above her.
And then I’m kissing her; kissing her with everything I fucking have and making sure I sear it hot across her mouth. She moans into me, arching her body to meet mine, and I can feel myself responding to the heat of her. I’m drifting down lower, teasing her with my tongue and my fingertips as I spread her legs and move between them. I take my time, running my tongue across her pussy before slipping it deep inside. I’m hungry for her honey, for her sweetness and for her release as I curl my tongue around her clit and gently coax her higher and higher. I’m teasing every single inch of her pussy, her ass, and her thighs, my lips sucking gently on her clit as she rolls like an ocean wave. She’s bucking beneath me, her hands pushing through my hair and her mouth open in a silent scream as I feel her start to tighten around my probing finger.
She explodes, the silent scream erupting into a broken, guttural cry as she comes against my lips. She tastes like honey and home, and I know I could spend fucking days there between her legs just making her come again and again.
I stand at the foot of the bed, ready to enter her, but she springs up, and I groan as I feel those perfect pouty lips wrap around my cock. She slides me deep into her mouth, like warm fucking heaven, and I growl as my hands slide into her hair. She’s aggressive and yet sensual, sucking me deep as she strokes me and moans around my crown in a way that has my toes curling the way she knows drives me fucking crazy.
And I love that we know these little idiosyncrasies about each other. This isn’t exploring the new, it’s two people perfectly in tune with each other’s bodies. This is re-familiarizing ourselves with what we already know.
I finally have to pry her away from me, pushing her back onto the bed and rolling one on before I slide hotly inside of her. Her legs are around me, her hands on my ass coaxing me harder and faster as she bucks her hips to meet mine. We move as one, rocking into one another faster and harder, until I stop holding back and just start to give it to her as hard as she wants. And I’m not sure if it’s my roar, her cries, or the ringing in my ears that’s louder as we come crashing together; both of us cresting that wave together and tumbling down the other side.
And it’s perfect.
We lie tangled together afterward; her tracing the needle track scars on my arms, me the burn marks on hers. I think about all the stories, and the jagged, broken paths it took to get to one another, and I grin. And I’m still thinking of it, and only her, as we fall asleep to the wailing of the criers on the minarets outside.
P A S T
"Almost ready?"
I'm grinning; of course I'm grinning, and I feel like I haven't stopped smiling in, well, months now.
Bryce pokes his head out of his bedroom down the hall from his bare living room and kitchen; "Yeah, just about."
I feel that glow that's been building inside for months now burn a little hotter seeing him changing like this. Damn does this man look good in a tux; even better with the shirt unbuttoned. He shoots me that cocky grin of his and ducks back into the room.
"We really ought to get you some furniture in here, you know," I call out.
I can hear him laughing in response; "Hey, we've got a bed; what else do we need?"
I blush and smile, feeling my whole body tingling still from the thorough tour of the bed we just gave each other only twenty minutes before; "Well, I mean, you've got a fucking motorcycle in here; how about a couch or something?"
"I'll think about it!"
I roll my eyes; "Well think faster, we're going to be late for our reservation!"
We're celebrating tonight. And even though I'm almost out of my mind with nervousness, I'm also excited. Because tonight, we're going out, we're getting a nice dinner, and then we're meeting up with Quinn and my brother.
And we're going to tell them about us.
Whatever happens after that, we'll deal with it, because it's the only thing left to do. No more sneaking around, no more hiding what this is in the shadows. Tonight, we take that leap and see where we land.
I glance at the clock above the stove before I turn on my heel and head towards the bathroom. For once, life is perfect, and it's a feeling I'm still trying to wrap my head around.
I close the bathroom door behind me, and turn, only to wince as I whack my shin off the bottom drawer of the towel rack next to the sink. I frown, grumbling to myself as I lean down to rub my shin and close the drawer.
But then something catches my eye and stops me cold.
Something long, sharp, and metal.
My breath is caught in my throat as I kneel and open the drawer, and it's like breaking open Pandora's box, because everything changes.
The syringe is only half-tucked under a folded washcloth, just lying there like a damning piece of evidence that barely cares to hide itself. My mind goes utterly numb, my body drifting away from me like in a dream as I carefully, horrifyingly, reach in and pick it up.
It's full.
The damn this is actually holding the drug inside of it; primed, loa
ded, and ready to go. The wind goes out of my lungs as I quickly drop it into the drawer and slam it shut. The room feels cold, my vision starts to blur, and that ache inside is the sound of my heart breaking.
Once a junkie, always a junkie; always a liar. All of this, all of these feelings that’ve been bubbling and coming up inside of me for the first time - all of this goodness - is built on a lie.
He's using again, and he lied to me about it.
I'm out in the hallway, grabbing my coat and wordless slipping my shoes on.
"Babe?" His voice drifts out from the bedroom, but I don't stop. Because if I stop, I'll break.
The front door clicks quietly shut behind me, and another chapter ends. I'm furious at myself that I was fool enough to think life could be sweet, like some sort of stupid fucking book or movie. But that shit isn't real, because real life is pain, and lies.
And I know that now, once and for all.
*****
P R E S E N T
The warmth is the first thing that floods my conscious as I wake, and it takes me a second to realize it's his arms, wrapped tightly around me. I close my eyes for a second, and let myself sink back into him and his heat before they snap back open again.
I don't panic immediately, and I don't jump out of bed, or run shrieking from the room. No, the regret comes slow, creeping through the feeling of warmth and the feeling of safety in his arms. Those things are a façade anyways; I know that from what happened before. This good feeling; this feeling like nothing else matters in the world but his arms around me, is a fallacy.
Because I've been there; I've seen through the curtain at what lies behind it. I've seen that life moves forward over broken glass, and no amount of this "feeling" I'm currently wrapped in will protect me against that.
Because eventually, with everything, the bottom drops out; that's just life.
Get up. I don't want to, but I know I have to. I'm slinking out of bed, trying not to disturb him as I slip away. This fantasy ends right here and right now.
I close my eyes and shake my head slowly, cringing at the feeling of emptiness that accompanies leaving those arms and that protection. Jesus, I can't believe I let that happen. That is not what we're here for. I'm not here to seek lovey-dovey feelings or rehash the past with Bryce.
We're here to save Logan, and I can't believe we've let that take second place to this.
There's one last lingering look as I pull clothes on. One last look at the teasing glimpse of happiness that isn't and won’t ever be real.
And then I’m out the door.
Just one more door in a long storied history of doors closing behind me.
P A S T
The office is mostly quiet this late, and I'm hurrying through paperwork bullshit when the call comes like a jarring last annoyance.
Shit, now what.
Tonight's a big night. Tonight, we cut out the bullshit. Tonight we're going to celebrate, and then we're coming clean with Logan.
Oh, and hoping he doesn't kill me. Fingers crossed.
I yank the phone off my desk and frown as I answer without looking at who's calling; "What is it," I say hurriedly, anger and annoyance lacing my voice.
There's silence for a second, and the the voice comes through, broken and scared; "Dude...I'm-" His voice cracks; "I'm in trouble, man."
The anger drops from my face, replaced by worry as I hear the hurt and fear in Danny's voice. Danny, the kid I'm sponsoring from N.A.
Fuck, not tonight.
But, that’s what I’m here for. You Don't get clean without help, and this kid needs all the fucking help in the world. Nineteen and a full-blown addict; it's a fucked up, broken world we live in.
"Hey, hey, I'm here, Danny. Where are you, buddy?"
"I- I'm home." I can hear him crying on the other end of the line; "I'm- I'm gonna use, man. I know it."
I swear under my breath, darkness clouding my face; the kid's been clean for just over a week now.
"I'm coming over, Danny. Just stay put and don't you fuckin touch it, you understand?"
*****
He's pacing when I come in, chewing his nails so much they're bleeding.
"How’re we doing, Danny?”
He looks up, as if just realizing that I've walked into his apartment; "I- I almost did it," He says with a shaky voice, his eyes darting back to the kit and the baggie on the kitchen counter; "I had it all loaded up and against the vein, man." He's white and shaking; the demons clawing him back down.
"Did you?"
He shakes his head; "No."
"Good," I let go of the breath I didn't even realize I was holding; "That's real good, man. You were strong."
I pat his shoulder as I push past him and grab the needle, his kit, and the rest of his stash.
"Hey, where-"
"I'm taking this," I say evenly, leveling my eyes at him and my look saying I'm not going to fuck around here with this. I'm throwing this shit out the first chance I get.
He wants to protest. After all this, he wants to yell at me; I can see it, and I know the feeling all too well. That's the addiction, raging for a fix, raging against the injustice of being told to go fuck itself.
I give Danny one more hard look and he nods; "OK. Yeah, OK.”
"Anything else here?"
He shakes his head; "No, man. That's all of it."
I nod; "Listen, I do have to run." He nods, and I walk over and clasp his shoulder; "I'm proud of you, Danny." He nods quietly, looking at the floor, and I give him one more pat on the shoulder before I head for the door.
"Hey, Bryce?" He looks up at me mournfully as I turn; "Thanks, man; really, thank you."
"Anytime. It's what I'm here for.”
Three weeks later, Danny O.D.’s on bad smack in a bus station bathroom in New Jersey.
It's a fucked up world.
*****
P R E S E N T
My eyes shoot open at the sound of the door closing, and I'm quickly fully awake as I blink and look around the empty hotel room.
"Peyton?"
I frown at the quiet emptiness of the room. I slide out of bed, pull on some pants and move to the door to the room. I'm yanking it open and sticking my head out-
Just in time to see the elevator doors open right in front of her down the hallway.
"Peyton?"
She turns, and there's that look; and that's all I need to know.
Darkness spreads over my face; I know that damn look. That look says everything she wouldn't say when she left like this the first time; when she left before. No words, no note, no explanation; just a look later that says more than any of those things ever could. That look is final.
She blinks once, and then she's stepping through the elevator doors before they close.
God-fucking-damn it.
I slam the door behind me as I stomp back into the room. Fuck this. I'm not chasing her; not like this and not this time. I'm done chasing this girl. I'm done dealing with her insanity and her fucking moods and feelings, and final looks.
Forget it.
Roar (Military Bad Boy Billionaire Romance) (Soldiers of Fortune Book 4) Page 10
