by Black, Lena
“I asked you a question, young lady.”
Ugh. Here she goes, treating me like a fucking child.
“If I’m being honest, yes I am.”
“Excuse me?” Her eyes narrow into tight slits.
“I am proud of myself, Mother.”
“You behaved atrociously,” she states. “Kicking that poor boy out of my house.”
Whose side is she on anyway?
“This is my home, too,” I comment, crossing my arms defensively. “Dad left it to me, and I didn’t want Holden spoiling the good memories I have here, so I told him to leave. Why don’t you understand I broke up with him?”
“I just want what’s best for you, Lacey.”
Yeah, right.
I decide to turn the tables, curious about our other mysterious male guest. “Who is Mr. Mitchell exactly?”
“He’s a politician from Washington.” She sounds irritated that the spotlight is now on her personal life.
“You know that’s not what I mean, Mother.”
“He’s a friend,” she says vaguely.
“What kind of friend?”
“Don’t you dare inquisition me!” She’s been relatively calm throughout this conversation until now. “After the scene you caused this evening in front of my dearest friends, I should be furious with you!”
She’s deflecting, which means my suspicions about Mr. Mitchell are accurate. But if she’s going to meddle in my love life, I expect some candor about hers.
However, I just don’t have the energy to do this now.
“I’m going to bed,” I sigh out and turn to walk away.
“Don’t you turn your back on me,” she hisses.
I stop and look back at her, drained. “It’s been a long day.” I continue to walk down the hall. “And I’m tired.”
“Fine, but you haven’t heard the last about Holden,” she calls out after me, her voice growing fainter as I near the stairs. “We are going to talk tomorrow.”
My mother has never been one to give up easily.
I sprint up to the second floor, desperate to find solace in my room. Quiet and peaceful, it’s my sanctuary.
I successfully manage to avoid my mother for the next few days. With people coming in and out of the house all weekend, preparing for the party, she has her hands full keeping an eye on everything.
I leave early each morning, heading down to the beach with a book and my MP3 player or jumping on my bike and riding into town, avoiding the house until well after dark. I know I can’t avoid her forever, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.
In the past few days, I haven’t been able to keep my mind off Gunnar, wishing he was here with me.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in the corner of my room, running my hands down my white gown. It’s strapless with an empire waist. Even with my height and heels, the train fans out on the floor behind me.
The only real downside to the dress is the fact that it shows off my new tattoo, which I’ve managed to keep hidden from Mother this far. I’ve covered it tonight by leaving my hair down.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Are you decent?” she asks, entering the room before I can reply. Looking me over, she appears unpleased by something.
Here we go.
“Why don’t you do a neutral lip?” she inquires, but it’s more of a command.
I chose a rich red. Gunn loves when I wear red lipstick.
“I like it.”
“And your hair,” she says walking up to me, “it should be up.”
Shit.
“No, Mom, I want it down.” I shift away from her as she attempts to grab it. “Please leave it alone.”
“Just let me…” She manages to grasp a handful and gasps. “Lacey, what is that on your shoulder?”
I spoke too soon.
I step away and face her, shifting my hair over my back. “It’s a tattoo.”
“I can see that. What is it doing on your body?”
“I got it when I went to Vegas. I was…drunk.”
“How could you do that to yourself?” she asks, her voice gradually getting angrier with each word. “You’ve ruined your flawless skin!”
“Mother…”
The doorbell chimes, indicating guests have begun to arrive.
“Why now?” she murmurs, placing her hand on her forehead as if she were about to faint. “You’re going to keep it covered for the party. And then we’ll figure something out later.”
I can tell she’s trying to restrain her anger with me. She wouldn’t want her guests to think there’s anything wrong with her impeccable daughter.
“Yes, Mother,” I whisper, my face cast down.
She marches out, firmly shutting the door behind her.
I mingle about the massive crowd, catching conversations here and there. But it’s all such boring banter. Everyone dressed in the whitest of whites, to match their overly bleached teeth bared through overly fake smiles.
Then I hear an uproar of laughter, unusual for this type of affair. I move toward the joyful sound, weaving through people as they go about their dull conversations, when the thick crowd scatters, revealing my mother laughing, standing amongst the boisterous group. That’s when I spot the cause, Gunnar towering over everyone, center stage. Everyone is enthralled with one of his stories as he enthusiastically regales them, hands emphasizing points in the tale. Then, he looks up, spying me, and pauses mid-sentence.
Dressed in a white suit and button up shirt, he makes me want to throw him down right here and put on a show. The collar of his shirt is open, revealing his neck tats. It gives him a sexy edge, unlike the rest of our flawless guests.
He holds his hand out to me as I approach. I’m hesitant to take it in front of my mom, unsure of what she’ll think. But when I look up into his come-hither eyes, all the bullshit fades. I link my hand with his, allowing him to pull me into his side, flinging an arm about my shoulder.
My mother watches us with flared-eyes. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but it doesn’t look good.
“Lacey?”
“Mother,” I murmur, nodding my head at her.
It’s funny how quickly the mood shifted when she realized he wasn’t just a colorful guest amongst all the bland white, he’s actually dicking her perfect daughter. Now, she’s glaring at him as if he were a deadly predator, a threat to the perfect future she has all mapped out for me.
“Will everyone excuse us?” she asks the other partygoers, tension stiffening her body. They move away, whispering to each other as they rejoin the rest of the crowd. I feel everyone’s eyes on us.
“Mother, I’d like you to meet Gunnar Haze. Gunnar, this is my mother, Cassandra.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cummings.” He extends his tattooed hand out to her and she peers down at it with contempt.
“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Haze, but I’d be lying.”
“Mother, please be nice,” I plead, gripping onto his arm.
She glances at me, her lips tight. “You expect me to be happy about this? You spring this on me during the most important party of the year. Should I be thrilled you bring your…whoever he is with you?”
I don’t know what to tell her about his status in my life. I’m not even sure I know. What I am sure of; her behavior has embarrassed and angered me. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that I’m a grown woman with the ability to make up her own mind about her life and whom she wants in it.
“Perhaps, you should be more concerned with your daughter’s happiness than your own,” Gunnar says with a cool tone.
“I beg your pardon? Who do you think you are?”
He chortles. “I’m the guy giving it to your daughter on the regular.” I gasp, my fingers digging into his bicep. I know I shouldn’t be surprised after the incident with Holden in Vegas. “But you know what’s really sad? I’ve known her for less than a month, and I treat her with more respect and kindness than you. I care more about her an
d what she wants out of life than you. You don’t deserve to be her mother. You don’t deserve a daughter as beautiful, loving, and smart as Lace. She deserves better.”
Cassandra places her hand on her chest, her mouth hanging open. “You aren’t honestly sleeping with this,” she gestures her hand toward Gunnar, waving it about, “man, are you? How could you sink your standards any lower, Lacey?”
The way she said man really grates against me, like the rough touch of a cat’s tongue, making me cringe. It almost sounded like she meant thing, as if he were some lowlife creature unworthy of my body, of my time, or affection. How could she speak about him like that? She doesn’t know how wonderful he is, how charming and kind.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Yes, Cassandra, I am.” My voice trembles. This isn’t me. I don’t talk back to my mother. I obey like a good girl. Gunnar positions his hand on my back, rubbing it to assure me of his support. “But that’s really not your business, Mother. It’s mine.”
“Lacey Grace Cummings, how could you behave like this?” she hisses between taut lips.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, Mother.”
I pull on Gunnar’s arm, guiding him away.
“It really was a lovely party,” he comments sardonically.
I can’t help giggling as we move through the crowd toward the house to quickly pack and change.
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
Finishing first, Gunnar told me he’d wait while I changed, then took my bags down to his car. I slipped into jean cutoffs, a plain white tee, and high-top sneakers, glad to be out of my binding dress.
When I’m done, I run out of my room and down the stairs, busting out the front door. Something about it feels dangerous, sexy, like I’m a rebellious teenager sneaking out afterhours to meet with a boy her parents don’t approve of her seeing.
I don’t see Gunnar at first, not until the orange cherry of his cigarette glows in the shadows, just out of reach of the house’s lights. Taking a long drag, he sits on the front end of his souped-up, matte black Camaro, parked at the end of the dimly lit driveway. With his torn jeans and white shirt, he’s so frickin’ hot I feel like my eyeballs might melt just from looking at him.
Bolting for his car, he smiles when he sees me, flicking his smoke into a nearby flowerbed, and jumps off the hood. I leap up, clamping my thighs about his waist when he catches me, kissing him passionately. His hands grasp at my thighs as he carries me over to the hood, setting my ass on the sloped edge. He leans his weight into me, forcing me to lie back against the cool metal, and roughly assaults my enflamed lips.
When he detaches his from mine, breathless, he whispers into my mouth, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
As he drives, I watch him, thinking about everything that happened over the past few days.
“I’m proud of you, Lace,” he says, placing his hand on my thigh.
“If you hadn’t been there, I don’t think I could have done it.”
He laughs. “If I wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have had to do anything.” He clutches to my leg. “And, yes, you could. You’re badass like that.”
I turn my head to look out the window. “I wanted to call you all weekend.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asks, rubbing my leg with his thumb.
“I didn’t want to seem…” I trail off.
“Clingier than static?”
I glimpse back at him and chuckle. “Exactly.”
He moves his mitt from my thigh, grabs my hand, and rests the back against his lips, kissing it tenderly. It’s such an endearing, supportive gesture, my heart swells. Resting our latched hands between us on the seat, he murmurs, “I would’ve come for you.”
I smile sweetly. “You did, Gunn.”
Without having to ask, he stepped-up for me when I needed him.
Relieved, I sigh and sink back into my seat, closing my eyes for only a minute. When I open them again, we’re parking in front of my brownstone. I must have been exhausted from the weekend with my mother and passed out cold.
We enter and climb the stairs to the second floor, his arm about my waist to ensure I don’t fall in my groggy state. By the time we make it to the top step, I start to wake a bit, my eyes feeling less droopy. Burying my face into his chest, I inhale him. He folds his arms about me, pressing me into his lean torso. This feels right.
When we make it inside my apartment, he says, “Are you tired?”
I shake my head. “Not particularly.”
“Do you want anything, a drink, something to eat?”
“You, naked, wrapped up in my sheets.” He smirks at me. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was flushed. But this is Gunnar we’re talking about here. “Will you take me to bed?”
He grabs the bottom of my shirt, tearing it off, then my shorts soon follow. I didn’t wear a bra or panties, and when he notices, a growl rumbles in his throat. He grabs me up and kisses me hard, walking us into my bedroom where he lies me across the bed. Leaving me there, he saunters over to my dresser and turns on my iPod, poking through my playlists until he finds something that makes him smile to himself.
Suddenly, hard drums and a screeching guitar tear through the bedroom. It takes me a second to pinpoint the song, Poison’s ‘Talk Dirty to Me’.
He doesn’t want to screw to this, does he? Dear Lord, I hope not.
He enthusiastically bobs his head and kicks off his boots, singing along.
“Oh yeah! Take it off, you sexy bitch.” I provoke him.
“You want me to put on a show for you, baby doll?” Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he playfully lifts it, teasing me with a gander of his tatted stomach.
“You know just what I like,” I joke, wiggling my eyebrows at him.
He rips it off and swings it around in the air, head banging like a madman. I laugh and fall back on the bed, which only seems to egg him on. He gives it all he’s got. Taking his tee and flossing it between his legs, he vigorously humps the air then throws it to the ground. Next, he goes for his belt, unclasping the buckle, it jingles with each exaggerated movement.
My hands rush over my scarlet face. Even though I’m the one sitting here butt naked, I’m oddly embarrassed for him. I crack two fingers apart to steal a look-see just as he’s unfastening the buttons of his fly, allowing the band of his briefs to peek out. Placing his hands behind his head, he thrusts his hips forward repeatedly. The motion causes his jeans to fall down around his ankles, his pelvis never stopping its assault, dick flapping around beneath his black boxer briefs.
It’s just too much. I can’t breathe I’m laughing so hard. My hand over my chest, I gasp for air, tears trickling down my cheeks.
“Fucking hell, stop. Please!” I plead, unable to endure anymore.
He smirks and waddles toward me, pants still restraining his legs from moving properly, then falls on top of me laughing.
“Aw, you didn’t think I was sexy?”
I shake my head, giggling. He smiles down at me, placing his mouth over mine with a chuckle. I set my hands on the side of his face, kissing him back. It’s so light and playful.
The song wanes, replaced with another. Slow, sensual, and passionate, something shifts between us, stilling us. He stares down at me with captivated eyes, rendering me breathless. His hand travels up to my face, the rough tips of his fingers barely skimming the sides.
I feel emotionally stripped. My heart, once cracked, chipping away fragment by fragment, feels mended. I’m terrified he can see what’s inside me, in the very thread of who I am…That I love him, soul-claiming, devastating love.
His mouth creeps towards mine until they meet, languidly playing with each other. Our tongues dance and dip. Our lips graze and peck. Our kiss becomes increasingly deeper, needy yet still unhurried. He moves his soft lips over my chin, along my jawline, and down the long line of my neck. My body twists and bends, reaching for his touch. Shifting his body, he cups my breast in his palm, pinching the harden
ed nipple with callous fingers, answering my pleas.
Cradling him between my thighs, I slide my feet down his calves into his jeans, pushing them off. They fall to the wood floor, creating a loud clank when the metal buckle of his belt makes contact with the hard surface. There’s something incredibly sexy about that sound, a vow of what’s to come.
His hands continue down my torso, slithering over my ribs and stomach, and settle on the indistinct curvature of my hip.
“You feel so good, Lace,” he pants from my neck, his fingers digging into my rear. With a cock as hard as iron, he grinds into my clit, pulling me into him with his coarse hands.
His lips fuel a scorching want in me, urgent and hungry for him, working me over with a tender touch. Overwhelming me, my emotions swell in my chest until I feel my heart might implode on itself.
A hint of his cock teases my opening, lightly prodding it when he moves above me. His mouth shifts to my breast, kissing along the mound beneath the nipple, continuing across the gap between my cleavage. Lifting his face, he looks up at me, a raw feeling I can’t identify glimmers in his eyes, brows knitted.
“Lace, I…” As he attempts to tell me something, his lips tremor. He’s vulnerable.
I fix my hands on his bristly cheeks and draw his mouth up to mine, rocking him with my thighs. He moans against my lips, enclosing his arms about my back, holding me close. Staring into my eyes, he thrusts forward, cock bare, and sinks inside my body until our outlines blur together. With a sharp gasp, my spine seizes and twists, reveling in the sudden fullness of my womb. He burrows himself deep within, stilling for a beat before pumping into me, his piercing stimulating my G-spot repeatedly.
It does make it better.
Our labored breathing syncs.
Simultaneously groaning over and over, our pelvises fuse with each drop of his hips. It doesn’t take long for my body to respond to him, not with his arousal-hazed eyes drilling into mine. Like gasoline, every sluggish plunge of his cock feeds the inferno burning down in my belly. We build together, our lips slackening, hovering inches apart. His cool minty breath enters my mouth with each stressed exhale, quickening until it’s almost a whimper. I watch as his orgasm washes over his face, wrenching it in sweet agony. His hands fly to my thighs, his fingers clawing at the supple flesh. Crying out, I follow, overwhelmed by the sensation of his raw cock draining deep inside me.
