I lean down behind her, using my hands to spread her wider, finding her wet folds with my tongue. The first swipe makes her jump but the second has her pushing back against my face. I am beyond teasing at this point. I’m afraid to stroke my own dick because I’m that close to coming.
I angle my head and find her clit with my tongue, pressing against it in a rhythm she mimics with her hips. I eat at her, savoring her taste, drinking her arousal as she begins to shiver around me. Her legs shake, her ass muscles clenching under my palm as I caress her silken skin. She’s gasping above me, her words lost in the beat of the music as I bring her closer and closer. I don't need to hear them anyway, the way her body goes completely still is what I’ve been aching for as she comes apart all over my mouth. I continue the pressure, taking her as far as I can, keeping her suspended in her own pleasure until she pulls away, her body collapsing in a boneless heap over the seat.
I rise from my position, pressing kisses along her spine as I drape myself over her body, only stopping when I cover her completely.
“Eres tan bella,” I whisper against the damp skin of her neck, the curls tumbling over her back. I kiss her cheek, trailing down until I can claim her mouth in a soft kiss full of softer sighs and wet tongues. “So beautiful.”
“Quiero que me folles,” she says, her green eyes flashing with the heat of our unfinished passion.
She wants me to fuck her. No... she’s begging me to fuck her.
Her terrible pronunciation does nothing to lessen the impact of her words on my cock. I’m hard, painfully hard, and I want nothing more than to give her what she’s asked for.
“I will fuck you.” I lean back and pull the condom out of my pocket before shoving my jeans and boxer briefs down to my thighs. The night air is cool against my hot skin but I don't care. Carlisle is running hot enough to burn me alive and I want to be consumed by her tight heat. I rip open the packet and slide it down over my length, leaning forward to slide into her body, her slick lube making it an easy glide forward. She gasps and then lets out a long, satisfied sigh that wraps around my balls. I have to fight the urge to pull out and slam back in. “I will fuck you hard and fast and deep. Are you ready?”
She nods and I pull out almost all the way and then shove my way back in. Carlisle pitches forward with the force of my thrust, throwing out her arms as she spreads herself out on the back of the car again. Her position is open, submissive and I take all she is offering, my hips snapping forward as I move in and out of her wet, willing body.
“Teo. Yes. Yes,” she chants over and over, and I fall into a rhythm that brings me closer and closer to my own release. The fire in my lower belly, the ache in my balls tells me that I’m not going to last as long as I want to. That I am not going to be able to resist the tight drag of her sex along my cock, that she will take from me what I am very willing to give to her.
I lean forward, draping my body over her back once again as my thrusts become more and more shallow. I bite the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and she cries out, her hand reaching back and her fingers digging painfully into my hip.
“I need to come,” she pants, her words slurred she’s so drunk on our lust. “I need... ”
“I know what you need,” I growl as I wedge my hand between her body and the seat and rub her clit in tandem with my strokes and the heaving jerks of her body under me. “Carlisle, come. I want you to squeeze me tight in your hot little pussy. Come on.”
My words and the rutting of my body against hers, pushes her over the edge and I go over with her, my orgasm making me shudder with the white-hot pleasure of it. I hear the music off in the distance but my ears are ringing, blood pulsing through me so fast I can't keep up, even with deep, gulping inhales of the sweet night air. I hold on to her, burying my face in the sweet gardenia scent of her hair, relishing the cool silk of it against my overheated skin.
“Fuck me,” she says on a breath that starts out as a sigh and ends on a laugh. “Fuck me.”
“Happy to but I need a minute. I’m twenty-two, not Superman.”
I lift up and off her body, slowly pressing kisses on any patch of exposed skin I can find. Her skin is like silk against my lips, her taste salty and sweet.
“I could eat you up.” I take a quick bite of her ass and tell her just how amazing she is. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Delicious.”
We lower ourselves to the seat, a tangle of laughter and limbs. When was the last time I laughed with a lover? Never. Sure, we had a good time. Enjoyed the moment and each other. I didn't stay around or keep them around long enough to laugh together.
But I’m not in any hurry to go anywhere right now. I dispose of the condom, right my clothes and settle lengthwise across the seat, pulling her down alongside of me. The music from the festival continues, providing a perfect backdrop to our silence.
“We need to do that in a bed sometime,” I say, tracing a finger up and down her arm. “I’d like to actually see you completely naked.”
Carlisle stiffens slightly and I wonder what I’ve stepped in this time.
“I’m not girlfriend or sleepover material,” she answers, her voice soft but firm.
“And I’m not asking you to move in. I’d just like to fuck you, roll over and pretend to sleep while you pick your clothes off the floor and sneak out.” I press a kiss against her hair and navigate the land mine field I’ve clearly landed in. “You can even have a walk of shame.”
“You’re kind of an asshole.”
“I really am but I’d still like to hang out with you again.”
“Don’t you have medical school or some other time-consuming activity coming up?” She looks up at me, her expression indecipherable but concerned.
“That’s the plan.” If she’s not girlfriend material, I’m not sharing material and that includes my shit about school, my sister, or any of it.
Carlisle remains silent in my arms, the music from the stage drifting over us with the breeze. I get her, I think. She’s not cold or stuck-up. A part of her is closed off except when I have my cock buried in her body. The couple of times we’ve been together, I’ve seen who she probably was before her body and her life was blown apart and then paraded through the media in the last eighteen months. When something like that happens to you, it is a rare person who can move forward without leaving the old you behind.
“Look, my wingman status remains even if we never fuck again. I’m screwed up and so are you but when I’m fucking you I forget about it for a while. I like sex with you and I like hanging out with you. Nothing more than that.” I put a finger under her chin and tip her face up to look at me. Her green eyes are open but clouded with her hesitation. “I don’t like to chase women, especially ones who have no desire to be caught. You have my number. You call me when you want to have some fun together. You control it all. Sound good?”
She watches me, her gaze assessing until she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Oh hell. You might be a nice guy after all.”
I laugh, a little confused. “I try not to be a dick as a general rule but my ‘Y’ chromosome gets in the way once in a while.”
Carlisle laughs, lying back down on my chest. “For the record, I’m not screwed up. I’m okay.”
“Really? Okay?” I don’t try to hide my skepticism.
“Yep.” She nods against my chest before placing a kiss on my collarbone. “And by okay I mean that I’m seriously fucked in the head but I’m sick of talking about it.”
Oh hell, this one is just about perfect. I look up at the stars and wonder what I’m doing with this girl.
Chapter Seven
Carlisle
Aaron is in the Student Commons.
Not actually Aaron. I’m not having a drug-induced hallucination but my vision blurs a little at the edges and my heart jumps like it’s trying to propel itself off the diving block when the race gun goes off. I look around the room and I can’t get away from it. His face is on every inadequate-penis-size-compensating flat s
creen TV in the center displaying either his official summer games photo or live footage of him doing what he did so well.
I try to stand but I can’t. It isn’t the injury but the surge of nerve-searing pain that shoots from my heart and liquefies every bone in my body. He is beautiful…alive. I stop breathing with the unconscious hope that he will appear, walk right off the screen and into my arms. How many times have I made that silent plea? The wish whispered in the dark to a vast universe that doesn’t care about my desire.
I am paralyzed, soaking in his face, his smile. The beard I thought I would hate and then loved. I watch as his long, toned body leaps off the block and slices through the surface of the water. His smiling face as he stands in the center of the awards ceremony, tears of pride running down his cheeks as he salutes our nation’s flag. And then the pictures of us together; laughing, kissing, cheering each other on at events start rolling across the screen and the bile rises up from my stomach and I have to breathe again in order to push it back down
The media called us the perfect couple and they didn’t know the half of it. Neither of us was easy to live with but we got each other the way that only happens if you’re lucky. And fuck but we loved each other. Bone-deep and overpowering. I didn’t know how lucky we were until he was gone.
And then the footage changes to the carnage, the wreckage of the athlete’s village. I close my eyes and dig blindly in my bag for my phone. I didn’t need to see the images when I was awake, it would spoil it for when they showed up again in my dreams. My phone is vibrating when I pull it out and I don’t even open my eyes to check the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Is this Carlisle Queen?”
I don’t recognize the man’s voice and when I glance at the caller ID, I realize that I don’t know the number either. I look back up at the TV screen and notice the headline banner at the bottom and suddenly I understand the coverage. The final U.N. report on the bombing has been released and drags up all the memories of the time when that crazy terrorist group tried to send the whole lot of us to hell. I bet my mother’s beloved labradoodle that the guy on the other end of my phone is a reporter.
“Ms. Queen? My name is James Moore from the San Francisco Gazette. I was wondering if I could get you reaction to the report—”
I’ve never been so angry to be right.
I turn off the phone, stand on shaky legs and weave my way in between the tables scattered throughout the room. People are starting to look, their gazes moving like ping pong balls between me and the TV screen and I just keep moving. I’m used to people staring and nobody ignores gawkers better than I do.
My phone rings again and I look at the screen. Another unknown caller. I decline the call, turn off my phone and exit the building heading across the quad. I don't want to wait for the bus and my apartment is only a few blocks away so I start walking. The sunshine is warm on my head and my bare shoulders but my teeth are chattering in spite of the sweat I can feel running down my back and prickling under my arms.
All I can see is Aaron’s face. Not the ones where is he is alive and happy but the ones that live in my head. The ones the media will never have because they weren’t there. They didn’t see what I saw. They didn’t taste the blood.
I speed up my steps, wanting to get home before the panic attack I can feel coming on hits me like the bus I narrowly avoid stepping in front of at the corner. I can see my apartment from this location and I scan the area for any news trucks, relieved when I don’t see any setting up. They'll be here soon enough, never passing up the chance to ask bullshit questions about the worst day of my life.
I hit the front steps of my building, wishing I could run up them but I get to the front door soon enough. I pull the door behind me to make sure it locks and then I’m pressing the button for the elevator two, four, or seven times. I know it won't make it come any faster but its either that or screaming. I refuse to lose it in the lobby of my building.
I enter the elevator and count off the seconds it takes to get to my floor and then rush down the hallway and unlock my door. I slam the door behind me and toss my purse on the floor, leaning over at the waist with my hands braced on my knees. I struggle to catch my breath, dry heaving as stars flash on the periphery of my vision.
“Oh my God, Carlisle are you okay?” Livvy rushes over to me, her face appearing in in my line of sight as she kneels on the ground in front of me. She raises her hands to cup my face, holding me so that I have to make eye contact. “Breathe. Just breathe with me.”
I’m having a panic attack. I’ve had them before and Livvy has had to coach me through them from time to time. Poor girl, once again I wonder what she did to get stuck with the crazy roommate.
“Carlisle, what happened?” She asks, her face getting some of its color back.
I suck in the air, mimicking her inhale and exhale until I feel my own body regulating itself. I slide down the wall, landing in a heap beside the door. I’m a sweaty, sticky mess but I pull myself together enough to get her up to speed.
“I saw Aaron.” I shake my head, knowing I need to start over from the alarmed look she’s giving me. “”On TV. They released the final report about the bombing. I’ve had two reporters call me already.”
She jumps up and goes to the window, pulling aside the blinds to look outside. Another perk of living with me, the chance that reporters will camp outside your door.
“I don't see any trucks yet,” she says, and turns back to me. “I’ll tell my parents that we’ll meet at the hotel and not here.”
Oh shit. I totally forgot that this is graduation weekend. Perfect.
“I’m so sorry Livvy—”
A sharp knock on the door, followed by a “Carlisle, it’s Mateo. Are you in there?”
My stomach does this flip-flop thing at the sound of his voice and I am relieved that he is here. Happy.
I cut a look at Livvy and reach up, turning the door handle and sliding it open. Teo filling up the doorway takes over my view, his face full of concern. He walks inside, shuts the door behind him and drops down to one knee in front of me.
“Jesus, are you okay?” He grabs my hand and frowns. “You’re shaking and freezing. What the hell is going on?”
I stare at him, wondering why he is here. I attempt to struggle to my feet and he reaches out and lifts me, holding me against him until I’m steady on my feet. I want to sink into him, steal his warmth and just stay there for about three days. I don't now when it happened but Teo has become something in my life. What I don't really know. Friend. Supporter. Something more.
I don't want him to be anything to me. I don't want to feel the relief that coursed through me when I heard his voice through the door a few moments ago. I’m raw from the photos of Aaron, the wound of my loss is open tonight, too exposed. The fact that Mateo would be any part of healing me is terrifying.
I push him away.
“Carlisle, wait. You're shaking like a leaf and I’ve never seen you so pale.” He looks at Livvy before reaching out for me again. I push him away. “Will you sit down before you face plant on the floor?”
“I’m fine,” I insist. I’m stubborn, I know. “I just need a few moments to get myself together.
I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, spilling some down the front of my shirt. My hand is shaking so badly that I loose my grip on the glass and it crashes to the counter, shattering and spilling its contents all over the place. I jump back at the same time Mateo and Livvy surge forward to help but I wave them away.
I don't want their help. I don't want them near me.
Livvy grabs a towel and throws it down to stem the tide of the water dripping down on the floor while Mateo pulls me close. His hands cup my face and he does that forehead touching thing that makes me get wobbly in the knees and in the vicinity of my heart and I reach the end of my rope. I want his touch too much. I want his comfort.
I squirm out of his grasp and slide past him, pushing off his hands w
hen he tries to pull me back to him.
“Carlisle, wait... ” he says, following me into my room.
“Why are you here Mateo?” I shove my bedroom door open and go to my bathroom. I pull back the mirrored door and pick up the bottle of drugs Dr. Shrieve gave me to take when I have a bad attack. “I open the bottle and shake two onto my palm, dry swallowing them before leaning over to slurp water from the running tap. When I stand upright, Mateo is giving me a weird look in the mirror. “What?”
“I think you take a lots of drugs.”
I raise an eyebrow at him as my temper flares. “Do you? I don't remember asking you.” I push by him and go out to my room, turning when he grabs my arm. I yank my arm out his grasp. “Get off me!”
“Getting high isn’t the answer all the time. I know you had a terrible thing happen to you but popping pills isn’t dealing with it.”
I get up in his face, holding nothing back. He gets everything he deserves and I decide to pile on all the shit I’m want to vent to the bombers, the reporters, the doctors. My list is long and my tone is ugly.
“I never asked your opinion about how you think I should deal with being attacked and having the man I love die right in front of me along with some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I didn’t ask for you to comment on the drugs I take or the way I deal with my problems. You are nothing but a fantastic lay and if you think there is anything more than that, you are delusional.”
His lips curl up into a sneer and he gives it back as good as I gave it. “You can’t function without popping something. Hell, I don't think we’ve actually fucked without you being high on something. I don't need to be anything to you and I don't expect to be but someone has got to tell you that you are playing a game that you can’t possibly win.” He points at his chest, his knuckles white he’s so tense. “I don't want to turn on the news one day and hear that you overdosed on a bunch of pills and you’re gone. Call me nosy or an asshole or whatever but you need to get your shit together and this isn’t it.”
Redemption Page 6
