Stripped From You: (Stripped Duet #1)

by M. Never

  “Yeah. Anytime. Take care of him.”

  I inwardly sigh. It’s my burden in life.

  “Hey, Tash?”

  “Yeah?” She turns in the doorway and regards me with her big, black molten eyes.

  “Do you know what you’re having?” I don’t know what prompted the question. Curiosity, I guess.

  She smiles. “A little girl. I’m naming her Shawna.”

  I gape at her.

  “It was really good to see you, Ryan. Take care,” she says quickly before hurrying out the door.

  I glare down at Sean. Please tell me you didn’t, you stupid fucking idiot.

  Sean sleeps most of the day.

  The doctors say he’s on some pretty heavy pain meds due to some cracked ribs, but he can go home in a few days.

  I don’t know what to do with him. Except maybe choke him. He’s up, he’s down, he’s good, he’s bad. It’s never just a straight line. Am I supposed to be responsible for him for the rest of my life? Am I supposed to help? Should I just stay away? These are questions I have never been able to answer. And no matter what I’ve tried, it always ends the same — in disaster.

  I get up to use the bathroom and stretch my legs. I grab some coffee from the cafeteria and wander the halls of the hospital for a few minutes. When I get back, my mother is with Sean. A flash of anger shoots through me when our eyes meet. I turn immediately and walk out the door.

  “Ryan!” She follows me into the hallway. “Don’t leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” That’s about the best she can do. It pisses me off to no end.

  “Because? You haven’t seen or talked to me in almost ten months, and all you can say is because?”

  “What do you want me to say?” she asks crossly.

  Ah, now there is the mother I know and love.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you should read the mother’s guide to raising children and plagiarize.”

  “Ugh, Ryan, how long are you going to punish me?”

  “I don’t know. Three and half years sounds like a pretty good amount of time.”

  She glares at me callously.

  “Don’t look at me like that. If anyone should be hostile, it’s me. My brother has been lying in a hospital bed for two days, and you didn’t even bother to call and tell me!” I’m panting. The fury I struggle to keep bottled up is threatening to burst. I’m under the same roof with the two people who can push my buttons the most. The outcome could be catastrophic.

  “I didn’t call you because I wanted to avoid this.”

  “What? Actually having to face me? Or did you just not want to fucking deal with me?” I accuse petulantly.

  “Don’t talk to me like that,” she scolds me. “And stop acting like a ridiculous child.”

  “I have never been a child,” I spit, gritting my teeth. “You never gave me the chance.”

  She tightens her lips and tears suddenly well in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, turning on a dime. “There isn’t anything else I can say.”

  “Well that’s a little bit better than because.”

  “I know you’re angry.”

  “Angry? Angry does not even begin to describe it.” It is all bubbling to the surface. All the rage. All the anger. All the resentment. All the feelings I’ve been trying so hard to suppress are erupting, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop them. At this moment, I hate my mother. I hate her for the past, for the present, and for the future. I blame her for everything. Every single second of misery in my life is because of her. “I lost everything because of you. Because you couldn’t be the person Sean needed until it was too late. You dumped everything on me. ME! We needed you, and you weren’t there. Ever. You loved your bottles more than you loved your sons!” I scream at her in the middle of the hallway. She slaps me across the face. I don’t even feel it. My adrenaline is pumping so hard, Dorothy’s house could fall on me, and I wouldn’t have a clue.

  “I didn’t know how to raise two little boys! Your father left! I was young and alone and scared,” she sobs. “And then Sean got sick, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I still don’t. But I’m trying.”

  It should break my heart to see my mother fall apart like this. But it doesn’t. She deserves every filthy, painful emotion she’s feeling.

  “I think it’s too little too late, don’t you?”

  “No.” She wipes her eyes. “I don’t think it’s too late with either of my sons.”

  I involuntarily scowl. “Maybe you don’t, but I do.”

  “Ryan!” She stomps her foot. And she accused me of being a child? “What do I have to do? How can we fix this?”

  The rage pops. I get in her face, breathing heavily. “Change the past!”

  She stares back at me, her face is impassive, but the look in her eyes. Oh, that look. I know it so well. It’s her temper flaring.

  “You know I can’t do that,” she snarls, her Brooklyn accent emerging with brute force.

  “Then I guess you’re shit out of luck, Mom.”

  “When did you become so cold-hearted?” Her face twists into this wounded expression.

  “When?” The muscles in my shoulders tense. “Maybe it was in prison. Or maybe it was when I came home and realized that not a single thing had changed during the three and a half years I was away. Or, maybe it happened the second you asked me to give up everything. My future, my girl, my life.”

  “Were those three things synonymous?” she asks grudgingly.

  “It doesn’t matter if they were; they’re all gone now.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  “And why is that?” “You’re still pining over some stupid girl.”

  “Well, excuse me for missing someone I love.”

  “I did you a favor. That girl wasn’t going to do anything but break your heart. You should thank me.”

  Her words rip my emotions wide open.

  “Well, I guess I’ll never know if that’s true, will I?” I tighten my fists. “You want a thank you? Here it is. Thank you for always making me wonder. Thank you for destroying the little bit of hope I ever had. Thank you for every single pitiful, painful second of my miserable life. It’s all because of you,” I rave vindictively. Twisting the knife as far as it can go.

  She glowers at me, her bottom lip quivering. “I can’t change the past, Ryan, I can only regret it.”

  “That makes two of us,” I growl.

  I storm off. I am done with this conversation. Done with her. And done with... no, not Sean. I want to be, but I’m not. I just have to distance myself. Stay exiled on Manhattan. Close, but just far enough away.

  I slam through the double doors at the end of the hallway, wishing I could blow them right off the fucking hinges.

  You Don’t know Jack

  “Ryan.” She sings my name. “Ryan, come find us.” There’s laughing. Lots of happy laughter, a chorus of voices echoing in the dark.

  I struggle desperately to follow the sound. But I can never find it.

  “Alana?” I call frantically, but she just keeps laughing while I fall deeper and deeper into the black. “Alana!” I become more desperate. “Alana, Alana... ALANA!” I shoot up out of bed. I’m sweating, panting, and disoriented. That same dream has been haunting me for months.

  I look up to find a woman with dark curly hair getting dressed in my room. She blinks at me curiously. Then she walks over and drops a kiss on my lips. “Desiree,” she notes, like I need clarification. “You were amazing,” she purrs, then finishes buttoning her shirt. A moment later, she walks out the door. I know I’m never going to see her again. And that’s perfectly fine with me.

  I stare at the empty space for a fraction of a second then drop my head into my hands.

  Sometimes an unbound life is an empty life. I lie back down and attempt to sleep the rest of the day away.

  It’s early May.

  The temperature is mild, but the
energy in the air feels electric. I don’t know what it is. But it’s like it’s sparking all around me. Maybe it’s the change of seasons or a dip in barometric pressure. Maybe it’s the fact that Alana has been haunting my dreams, and this morning’s was the most vivid one by far. I’ve been missing her like crazy lately. More so than usual. I thought time was supposed to heal all. Apparently for me, it’s absence makes the heart grow fonder.

  I clasp Lorenzo’s hand as I walk by the main entrance of Culture. He’s already fighting back women with a stick. No one crosses the threshold before eight o’clock. House rules. I enter the secondary doorway, the one that leads down to the male revue. The place is already filling up with staff. A few of the other dancers are mulling around, and two new guys are behind the bar setting up.

  I head over to Eddie, the DJ, who is playing around on his turntables.

  “Hey!” I get his attention and hand him a jump drive. “New music tonight.”

  He nods with one giant headphone covering his ear and takes the drive. After that I head into the staging room. Divan is already there changing.

  “’Sup, man?” he asks, pulling on his leather pants.

  “Nothing,” I respond casually as I open my locker, then unzip my backpack. “I’m trying something new.” I pull out a black cowboy hat and eye mask. “What do you think?”

  Divan takes the hat. “I think you should fling this into the crowd. They’ll fucking love it.” He beams.

  “I can do that.” I snatch the hat back and laugh, but I don’t feel contentment when I do. Just emptiness.

  For the next few minutes I pace the staging room. Back and forth and back and forth, like a caged friggin’ cat. I crack my neck, my wrists, my fingers like somehow, magically, it will alleviate the festering angst.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Divan asks.

  “I don’t know. I’m antsy tonight.” The room feels like it’s shrinking. I consider going out to get some air.

  “Drink some coffee. It’ll help.” He thinks he’s funny.

  “You’re an ass—”

  “Whoo!” I’m suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched yell as Skyler bursts into the room with his high-energy self. He’s one of Daniel’s seasoned performers. He’s a large-muscled ball of bright light who comically dubs himself Officer Orgasm.

  “Let’s rock this!” He walks over to his locker and nearly rips the door off opening it. Now, if I didn’t know him as well as I do, I’d think he was cracked out on speed or steroids or some shit. Turns out, he just suffers from attention deficit disorder. “You guys have to fucking see this blonde in the gold dress out there. Hot damn,” he exaggerates as he changes into his police uniform. “She is A-mazing. I call dibs.”

  “She’s all yours,” I reply flatly.

  “Dude. I don’t know what your deal is with blondes, but this one might change your mind. I’m pretty sure one touch from her, and you’ll feel it in your soul.”

  I scoff, “Doubtful.” Highly fucking doubtful it. It doesn’t matter how many women touch this body, only one woman has ever touched this soul.

  I’m suddenly catapulted five years into the past and back into that tiny cabana with Alana. My chest literally aches every time I think about her. About us...

  “Come over here.” I pull Alana closer to me. It’s the middle of the night. The candles are still flickering, and the ocean is crashing gently against the shore. It’s a soothing sound.

  “Any closer and I’ll be on top of you.” She giggles.

  “That’s not a bad idea.” I grab her and straddle her legs over my hips. My erection stirs to life. “I’ve wanted you on top of me since the moment we met.”

  Alana steadies herself with one hand on my chest, rubbing her index finger over the tiny hole on my left pec. “It scarred.”

  I put my hand over hers. “It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it. It’s a little piece of you.”

  “I still feel bad.”

  “Then make it up to me.” I flex my pelvis.

  “You’re insatiable,” she teases me.

  “Of course, I am. Look at who’s sitting on top of me.” I shimmy my hips, anxious to be inside her.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “You don’t need to know what you’re doing, you just need to feel.”

  “Feel?”

  “Mmm hmm.” I sit up so we are nose to nose. “Use your instincts. Go with what feels right.”

  “What if you don’t like it?” She bites her lip.

  Every time she shows her vulnerability, it beguiles me. It’s always so unexpected.

  “Not in a million. There isn’t anything you do that I don’t like.” I push some hair behind her ear as she stares back at me timidly. “Kiss me.”

  Alana leans in, and I wrap one arm around her waist, trapping her against my body. Our tongues roll together fervently as we quickly get lost in the taste of each other. The friction of our skin becoming so intense it burns us up with need. I eagerly grab her ass and push her down until I’m completely sheathed inside her. Fuck, she feels so good. Tight and warm and wet.

  “Ryan?” she pants as I slowly guide her up with my hands.

  “Yeah?” She sits all the way down on me, and my brain cells scatter.

  “Why did you say you love that someone like me could love someone like you?”

  She picks now to ask me this?

  I still our movements and look into her eyes as my erection throbs inside her.

  “Alana,” I exhale, trying to align a coherent thought. “I just meant we’re different.”

  There, I said it.

  “Different? Explain.”

  “I just... I meant...” I have no idea how to articulate this. “You’re you, and I’m me.” I shrug.

  She studies me. The soft glow of the candlelight is shimmering off her pink cheeks. “You think because I have money and a nice house I’m better than you?”

  “I think because you’re beautiful, smart, rich, and funny you’re too good for me,” I correct her.

  “Ryan...” She lets my name linger as she stares at me intently. “That’s bullshit,” she declares then pushes me down onto my back.

  “I don’t think so,” I disagree.

  “You don’t know anything,” she argues.

  Then she starts to move – slowly — rocking up and down until my eyes are rolling into the back of my head. She’s a quick study.

  “Ryan?” she utters my name softly, and I open eyes. “We’re not so different.”

  “Oh yeah?” I question idly.

  Alana runs her finger down my nose, and then swipes her thumb delicately over my bottom lip. “We both use these the same way.” Then she leans down and kisses me chastely as I run my hands up her back and over her shoulders, reveling in the feel of her skin. She sits back up and presses her hand over my heart. “And this beats the same rhythm,” she continues, shifting her hips up then dropping them down forcefully. I groan. Oh fuck. My orgasm is starting to circle.

  “You know what is different?” she asks as she keeps up the tortuous pace, forcing me to respond. My hips move on their own accord, driving all the way up into her as she plummets down. “These.” Alana bends again and kisses my eyes. “You can see things I will never be able to see,” she confides, completely spellbinding me. “And these.” She grabs one of my hands and lifts it up by my head, entwining our fingers as she goes. “With these you make beautiful things, things I will never be able to create.”

  It’s amazing how much her words can affect my body as much as my mind; it launches my adrenaline, and my arousal, into the stratosphere.

  “Those are the only things that are different,” she moans as I thrust harder, more urgently, like I can’t get enough.

  Shit, I’m so fucking close.

  “Alana, come,” I demand, right before I go from zero to sixty in two-point-two seconds.

  “I’m not ready.”

  “I need you to come.” I lick the pad of m
y thumb with my head half detached then massage her clit firmly as I start to thrash in and out of her.

  “Holy shit, Ryan!”

  She comes hard, fast, and hot, and I fucking detonate. My orgasm blasting through my insides like dynamite.

  It completely obliterates me. Fuck.

  I come around with Alana lying limp on top of me. Is it always going to be like this? This intense? This satisfying?

  We’re both breathing heavy and completely spent.

  “Baby?” I slide my hands into her hair and force her to look up at me. “I think you found the words.”

  She shakes her head and smirks. “Not even close.”

  Someone slaps me on the shoulder, and I find myself back in the present. Although I would give anything to live in the past.

  “Where’d ya go?” Divan asks cheerfully. “Looks like you were lost somewhere.”

  I just shake my head. “Nah. I’m here.” I unconsciously rub my chest, circling my finger around my scar.

  “Whatever,” Skyler cuts in. “I ain’t cryin’ over your disinterest, Jack. That-one-is-comin’-home-with-me-tonight.” He dry-humps the air.

  “I hope she lives up to your expectations.” He’s a fucking nut.

  “She will,” he replies with a cocky, shit-eating grin.

  I’m the last performer of the night, so I have to stay holed up until I’m announced. Daniel likes it that way. Says it builds anticipation. I think it’s bullshit. He just likes to drive me crazy. I’ve come to despise small, windowless places.

  I secure my mask and put on my cowboy hat, while Divan finishes violating another willing victim. My palms are sweaty, and my heart is hammering. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I’ve done this a thousand times.

  I hear the music stop, and a few minutes later, Divan appears with a bunch of loose bills crumbled up in his hands.

  “Good crowd tonight.” He flashes me a smile. “You’re up. Looks good.”

  He’s referring to my experimental costume. Along with my cowboy hat and eye mask, I have on a pair of ripped up, worn out jeans. No shirt.

  I take a few deep breaths as I hear Hugo’s voice through the thin walls. Chill the fuck out, man.