by Mj Fields
“Fuck yes,” he says, then goes at it again.
“Please, I want you. I want you inside...”
My words stop as he lowers me before standing. Then he turns me around and moves me toward the mirror and grits out, “What do you see?”
“You. I see you.”
“No.” He rubs his massive head against my soaked entrance. “When you look in the fucking mirror, Tatum. When you aren’t here anymore, and you look into the mirror, you see, you feel, you fucking remember this.” With that, he slams into me, leaning forward and burying his face in my neck. “You. Feel. Me.”
“Oh, yes,” I cry as he stretches me, thrusting in and out hard, pounding me, marking me, fucking me.
He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look up, while I look for him in the mirror, wanting to see him. But all I see is me, and all I feel is the excruciating pleasure he is giving me.
I come. I come hard, begging him to come with me.
“Fuck,” he roars against my skin, and then he stands and pulls out.
“What are you...?” I cry, then feel his hot come against my back.
“Fuck,” he growls. “You needed my cock, and I fucking needed you so badly I forgot. Fuck, Tatum,” he groans, and I feel more of his hot liquid scorch my skin.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
“The hell it is,” he growls as he pulls his pants up.
“Please don’t. It’s fine. We just...” I pause, turning around and taking his chin in my hand. “We needed each other. It will be fine.”
He nods, but worry fills his eyes.
“Knock, knock.” We both hear Buck.
“Get dressed.” He kisses me and starts to turn, but I stop him, and he looks back at me in confusion.
“Angelo,” I whisper. “I’m all over your beard.”
He looks past me and into the mirror and smiles. “Good.” Then he turns and walks out the door.
The thing I love the most when I have time with Angelo is nothing is ever awkward.
I dress and head out into the living room with him and Buck as if he didn’t fuck me in a way no one will ever top or erase from my memory.
After the movie, Buck goes to bed, and I help Angelo clean up.
When I look at the door, he takes my hand. “Stay.”
“Yeah?”
He nods.
Once in his room, he strips to nothing and hands me a legacy gym shirt. “This or nothing.”
I smile. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“I’ll be in bed”—he nods—“waiting.”
“I’ll hurry,” I say from over my shoulder as I walk out.
When I return, he’s in bed.
I walk over and climb in, and he pulls the covers over me before pulling me tightly against him.
“Tired?” he asks.
“I am.” And sore.
“So sleep?”
I look up. “Is that okay?”
He nods.
I lay my head down against his chest, and he kisses the top of my head.
“Tell me about you?”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I want to know.” I look up at him.
“Put your head back where it was, and I will.”
I can’t help smiling. “Okay.”
“I’ll tell you everything I think you want to know. Then we sleep. No discussions, Tatum, got it?”
“Got it.”
“I was born and raised just north of Woodward Avenue in Detroit, Michigan, in a place known as Highland Park. Many years ago, it was a happening area in Detroit. As you saw leaving the cemetery, it’s now the slums.
“My old man, a widower, worked twelve hour shifts at a brewery to give us a home. My sister, Maria, was exactly eleven months older than me. She was tall, thin, and beautiful, like you.” He pauses and pulls me a bit closer. “My old man told me she looked just like our mother. And to me, she was kind of like a mother. She cooked, did laundry, cleaned, and reminded me to do my homework.
“As long as I can remember, she had the most even temper of anyone I had ever met, and I suppose I mimicked that.”
I look up at him, and he rolls his eyes.
“I did.”
“I believe you.” I look back down at his chest and run my fingers on top of the thin patch of hair.
He growls a bit, and although I want him so badly again, even though I feel like I can’t possibly take him, not after the pounding he just gave me, I still have this desire for more.
“Go on,” I coax.
“When I was a junior and she was a senior, things changed. She changed. She changed because of a guy. I didn’t like him, but she sure did.” He pauses, and I’m afraid he’s going to stop. Then he continues on, and I internally sigh in relief.
“One Saturday night, after Dad got home from overtime at the brewery, I watched her sit on her bed, rocking back and forth, crying. It was nothing unusual anymore. My old man told me she was dealing with ‘girl problems.’ I knew better.”
“Those closest to us often do,” I mention, knowing that it must have killed him to feel so helpless while his sister was hurting.
“It was her boyfriend, the guy I watched walk in the front door and go to her room at night when Dad was at work, totally disregarding that I was even there.” He tenses for a moment and blows out a breath.
“Months passed, and she became a different person. She was no longer calm. She was up and down emotionally, and was getting thinner and thinner.
“One night, she stormed into the house, and he followed her. I heard them fight. She accused him of cheating on her, and he told her she was being paranoid and just needed a fix. When he left that night, I looked into her room. She was staring at the ceiling, totally unaware that I was standing next to the bed, looking at her.”
I hurt for her as he tells me what happened to his precious sister.
“Her arms had marks up and down them. I knew immediately she was on something. When I confronted her, she told me to mind my own fucking business.
“A week later, the same thing happened. She stormed in; he followed. I heard him say the same damn thing—she needed a fix. This time, she told him no. In that moment, she was again Maria in my eyes, not the Maria I saw over previous weeks.
“I stood up off the couch and walked toward her room. I heard a struggle and her begging him, ‘No, please no.’ I kicked in the locked door and pulled him away, then pulled the syringe of poison out of her arm. He attacked me, and I yelled for her to call the police. She cried and cried, and then she laid down and stared at the ceiling.
“I knew something was wrong. I kicked him off me. I stood and went for the door to call for help. He attacked me from behind and pushed me on the bed next to her. I watched as her lips went from a healthy pink color to pale within seconds. Her body convulsed. She wasn’t in control.”
I feel him tighten under me, and I wonder if I asked too much of him. Yet, I want to know, and I somehow feel like he needs to tell me.
“His hands were around my throat when the rage kicked in. It was like I was watching it all happen—everything—in slow motion. The sound of my own blood flowed like the Detroit River on a spring day after the big thaw. My pulse pounded out of control through my entire body as I fought for my life.
“The moment when a person takes their last breath, there is a look that passes in their eyes. In his case, the anger and rage left, and fear and pain set in... right before realization that there wasn’t a fucking thing he could or would do to hurt her ever again.
“I could have stopped. I could have let him live. But I didn’t. I never let go.”
I am fighting with everything I have to hold back the tears, but I can’t hold back the truth.
“It’s not your fault.”
“No talking, Tatum. Sleep now.”
I can hear the pain in his voice. It took him a lot to open up to me, and I am so glad he did. Maybe it will relieve some of the pain inside of him. I sure hope so.
> “Goodnight,” I whisper against his skin, then kiss him.
“Sleep good,” he says, pulling me closer.
Can I sleep? Can he? I know we have done it before, but I was drunk, and he disappeared before I awoke.
No matter. He will be here in the morning. After all, it’s his place, and he invited me to stay. So stay I will. Sleep or no sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Angelo
Buck lands a jab to the left side of my head, a solid hit. I’m sure it would hurt if I let it. Mind over matter. It can’t hurt if I don’t acknowledge it.
“Focus, fool.” He laughs, coming at me with a right that I block.
I sweep his legs, and he falls.
“How about I do the teaching, and you do the focusing.”
He sputters under his breath as he pops up. “My mom did that to me twice.” He swings with his right, and then sweeps me.
Didn’t see that coming, I think as I stand.
“You should have slept last night instead of shaking the bed,” he jokes, but it’s not fucking funny.
“You watch what you say, you hear me?” I swing at him, and he blocks.
“Oh, I fucking heard you.” He laughs. “Not nearly as much as I heard her.”
I swing and connect with the side of his face, and he is down.
“All right, that’s enough,” I hear Jagger call to us.
I understand why he interjected. Shit was getting heated.
Buck stands up, rubs his jaw, and smirks.
I poke him in the chest. “You and I got a good thing going, Buck. Don’t fuck it up.”
I don’t know what Jagger says to him next because I hit the bags hard.
I didn’t sleep for shit last night, and neither did Tatum. I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t control the new thing burning inside of me.
Rage wasn’t center ring anymore. Need was.
She lay in bed this morning, staring at the ceiling after the last time I fucked her. Her face was flush, pink lips red, tits covered in hickeys, and legs limp.
I asked her if she was okay, and she nodded before looking over at me.
“I should apologize,” I tell her.
She smiled as big as the fucking morning sun. “You better not.”
When I kissed her and reached between her legs again, she whimpered in my mouth. I knew she’d had enough. Fuck, I knew she’d had enough ten minutes before that, but I loved the way my cock felt sliding in her hot, wet pussy; the way her walls tightened around me, squeezing the fuck out of me, even after I fucked her twice before that. Fucking amazing.
I took her home in the truck because walking looked too fucking difficult for her, which pleased the hell out of me. I even walked her to the elevator, where I kissed those lips and said goodbye.
Now... Well, now I’m sloppy in the ring. That would normally piss me off, but I don’t give a damn today.
Today, I’m on top of the fucking world.
I hold those same damn flowers in my hands I got her before, along with a bag full of shit from the drug store, as I slide the key card through the electronic lock and open the door.
She is lying on her stomach, face half-on and half-off a laptop. She doesn’t even look at me.
I set the shit down, walk around so I can see her face, and then push her hair back.
She’s sound asleep, and it’s only nine o’clock at night.
I pull off my shirt, toe off my sneakers, drop my pants, close the computer, and move it to the table before climbing in bed with her.
Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at me. “Hi.”
“Tired?”
She nods and starts to sit up.
“Let’s sleep.”
“Yeah?” she asks, resting her head on my chest.
I kiss the top of her head. She smells so fucking good
“Yeah,” I answer.
I wake up to her tracing her finger from one hip to the other, dick already hard and ready for her. For Tatum.
She looks at me, and then back at my abdomen. “What made you do this?”
I look down at the black words scrolled across my waist just above the god’s eye. “An eye for an eye. Self-explanatory.”
“I see,” she says, kissing it. Then she traces the flames on my hand, up my arm, tracing the chain. On top of all of it, a woman is bent backward with a chain around her waist as if she’s being pulled to Hell. “I want to erase this.”
“Can’t undo the past,” I tell her as she kisses my neck then lays a light one on my lips.
When I try to kiss her again, it’s reason is two-fold. I want to fucking kiss her, and I want to shut her up.
She bends and kisses my chest, then farther and farther down my waist where she pushes her hand under the covers, gripping me, not lightly, either. My hips thrust into her hand, and she pushes the covers back, leaning in like she’s going to suck my cock.
“Tatum, that’s not where I want you,” I say, trying to pull her up, but I can’t.
She starts to crawl over top of me, straddling me, beautiful bare ass in my face and then...
“Fuck.” I thrust into her mouth as she takes me deeper. Then I grip her ass harshly and groan before reaching between her legs and rubbing her pussy.
She’s wet, and I fucking want her to soak my beard.
I pull her back with a groan and demand, “On my face, Tatum.”
My cock falls out of her mouth. “I want to do this for you,” she says before taking me deeply into her mouth again.
I pull her back and place her where I want her, my mouth centimeters from her pussy. I push my tongue out and flick it against her lips, and she moans, mouth full of me, and then grinds against my face.
I am on fire for this woman. White hot fire for her taste, her touch, her every fucking thing she gives me. And I want more.
I pull her down harshly as I shove my tongue deep inside of her and lick, suck, and eat her hot little snatch as she sucks the life out of me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tatum
I lie in bed with my laptop in front of me, trying to focus on writing, but all I can think about is him, his story, his touch, his strength.
It’s been almost a week. Every free minute he has, we are together. I’m not complaining, but I’m also not sure how to process everything I’m feeling. This was supposed to be simple.
My phone pings with a text from Melanie.
You can’t ignore me forever.
I sigh. She’s right; I can’t.
Going to my contacts, I call her, to which she answers on the first ring.
“Tatum!” Her voice is strained with worry.
“Melanie, I’m fine.”
“I told you to come home. This guy, Tatum; it’s not safe.”
Leaning against the headboard, I save the document and close my laptop, telling her, “Melanie, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but there is so much more to the man. Angelo, he has honor. He has his own moral compass.”
She gasps audibly. “I cannot believe you, Tatum Longley! Find a muse, write a romance—I didn’t say go fall in love with a felon!”
“It’s not like that,” I defend. “He’s not the bad guy. He was protecting his sister. He did his time for the crime he committed, and he has made a life for himself.”
“Don’t you try to make him some saint.”
I don’t mean to, but I laugh. “Well, in the past, the nuns said he was a good boy.”
“Tatum, I’m serious. You went to Detroit in a hard place. You needed to have closure for Gregory. Don’t let Angelo be your rebound.”
“He’s not a rebound.”
“Actually, let him be a rebound, then bring your ass home and live life with Detroit in your rearview mirror.”
Her words hurt. I know she doesn’t mean them to, but they do.
“I’m done explaining myself to you, Melanie. I’ll have the book to you soon, and I’ll be home soon enough. I found the closure I needed here in Detroit. As fo
r Angelo, he’s off limits to you. Trust me to do what I need to do for myself.”
“I love you like a sister, Tatum.”
“Then support me.”
“Endlessly.”
This is why I love Melanie. She may not agree with the decisions I make, but she will always support me, and I her.
Once I end the call, I open my laptop and look at the screen. The curser blinks at me hatefully. I know I have to get these words, this story out, but this is more than a romance. This is more than a work of fiction.
Closing my laptop, I grab the pen from the desk and lift the leather journal, opening it to a blank page.
My lease was almost up. I had only signed a short-term lease on the apartment because my job here was only temporary. I was a traveling nurse. I worked a contract and moved on.
Jonathon and I passed each other daily, and the pull between us continued to grow stronger. This whirlwind we had built had been on lust alone. I saw Jonathon and my pulse quickened, my skin tingled, and I felt more alive than I ever had before. In this time we had together, everything I had so carefully protected felt so exposed.
Sex was just sex. A mutual release... until it was something more.
Jonathon and I hadn’t discussed the future. I didn’t think we should. I wanted to be here in the moment with him. As hard as goodbye would be, I wanted to enjoy every second.
I licked my lips, thinking about seeing him again. It was mid-day, and I was working a night shift tonight.
Bravely, I did something I had never done before. Picking up my phone, I texted him to stop by for a lunchtime snack.
We had recently exchanged numbers. Although we had shared a few texts between us, I had never been this bold with him, with any man, before.
Jonathon did things to me. Just thinking about it had me burning inside, and my panties were soaked in my desire.
He didn’t reply, and I tried to push down my body’s needs. Ten minutes passed, and with each passing moment, I began stripping more of my clothing. The feel of fabric against my pert nipples was too much as my cravings only grew stronger.
Going to the freezer, I pulled an ice cube from its tray as I stripped myself down to a simple pair of pink lace panties. Putting the cube in my mouth, I allowed it to start the melting process before I took it out and traced my lips with it. Then I trailed the frozen cube along my neck, my whole body shivering from the touch.
