Use Me

by Mj Fields

  Time heals all wounds, they say. It’s taken time for me to know I need to move on.

  I didn’t come to Detroit for love, lust, or anything to do with finding a man. No, I came to write a story on the beauty and the beast that is the city of Detroit. I came here to see what Gregory wanted me to see.

  Could it be that he wanted me to see the beauty in Angelo instead of the monster the man sees in himself?

  The more my mind tries to make out the real meaning of this trip, the more I go back to Angelo. I can’t let him think it’s his fault I fell so hard and so fast for him. After all, this was my idea. It was supposed to be a simple proposition.

  Opening the journal and grabbing a pen, I decide I need to leave this city behind, but not without being clear with the man who calls this place home.

  Dear Angelo,

  Where do I begin? I hate to leave this city and think of our time together with anything but adoration. More so, I hate to leave and think that you have any additional ugly moments in your beautiful life.

  Yes, Michelangelo Mazzini, you are a beautiful man, inside and out. You are a saint, and not a sinner. You are loyal, loving, giving, kind, and so very strong.

  People say your past defines your future. Angelo, please let it be your beauty in the pain. You couldn’t save Maria, but you did avenge her death. You couldn’t, and honestly, it wouldn’t change taking the man’s life, but it is a beautiful thing to love so deeply, so powerfully, and to know that, although society may find it wrong, it was right. If he had lived, there would be many more Maria’s in his future. There is not a single doubt in my mind of that.

  I want you to know that I sent my research into your case to the Attorney General. I don’t know that anything can be done about the time you lost, but it is my sincerest hope you are punished no more. If your parole is dropped, shortened, or should your time expire, it is my wish for you, Angelo, to see the world.

  Your life has been one of captivity by wrongdoings of so many others. It is time for you to see the good in the world, instead of being immersed in the bad.

  I’m writing this, not only to tell you what I’ve done, but to ask that you forgive me. I didn’t come to Detroit looking for a muse. I didn’t come here to write Annie and Jonathon’s story. I didn’t come here with the intention of finding this beautiful man and falling so hard for him.

  I did, though, and Angelo, it’s on me.

  I can’t leave here and not make things clear to you that you helped me more than you hurt me. Before you came into my life, I was drowning in existing. Day in and day out, I did what I had to do, and nothing more. I came to Detroit to show the world what once was, but, you see, I was also holding on to my own what once was.

  That’s not living. No, that is a drowning of another kind.

  I can’t go back and change what happened to Gregory, as much as I can’t go back and change Maria’s path for you, though I wish I could for you, for her, and for what you both lost.

  It pains me to think of the hurt I’ve caused you. I came into your life and opened wounds you probably wished I hadn’t. I can only hope in this pain you find healing, Angelo.

  Thank you for showing me so much. I will not walk the streets oblivious to what’s around me anymore, both so I don’t miss out and so I’m not in danger. Thank you for giving me a reason to believe in love again. Thank you for being the strong man you are, and for showing me the will in which you contain yourself for everyone else.

  One day, Angelo, I know we will look back on this time together and it won’t hurt. One day, we will know that together we have grown from each other. I have grown from you. I have opened myself to living again, breathing again, because of you.

  If you ever need anything, Angelo, I will always be here for you. I am eternally grateful for having you in my life and knowing the man underneath it all.

  With love and adoration,

  Tatum Longley

  Tears fill my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I believe in what I wrote. We will both grow from this loss. We will both be stronger and better for having known each other. I don’t know if I can get him pardoned or a shortened sentence on his parole, but it is my every wish that he sees the world.

  Michelangelo Mazzini is not a cold-hearted beast out for murder and mayhem. No, he is a loving and loyal brother whose only mistake was not getting through to his sister before it was too late. That’s really on her, though, not him. My hope is that, someday, he can see that for himself.

  Until then, I will leave this letter, and I will leave Detroit behind, knowing that my heart may be pained, but it is full once again.

  Angelo gave me this, and it’s the greatest gift I have ever been given.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Angelo

  Two days.

  Two days before she leaves.

  Tatum Longley, Legs, the first woman I fucked, the first person in years I let in and did it selfishly, because it felt so fucking good to be wanted, sought after, fucked, touched, and forgiven when I didn’t even ask for it.

  I knew she would go back to New York, taking with her a piece of my heart. A heart that was black for many years... until her.

  The thing about hearts is that it wants what it wants, and mine wants her.

  That can’t happen.

  The other thing about the heart is, no matter how bad you wish it would stop beating, it doesn’t.

  I should have never agreed to let her use me.

  I should have fucking known better.

  I look down at the letter crumpled in my hand, the one that has now been read, crumpled, thrown in the trash, and picked back out of it because I need to read it again, and again, and again.

  I want to be pissed at her. I am pissed at her. She has no business sharing my shit with anyone, and she has no business falling for me.

  I stand up and toss the letter back in the garbage before throwing on a hoodie and getting ready to go do what I have done all fucking week—sneak around and stand outside her hotel to make sure she doesn’t get herself in trouble. Not like I have anything else going on, and certainly not like I’m going to sleep.

  I wasn’t out of pills, but I did flush them. I didn’t want Buck to get the wrong idea, or pick up on my bad habit.

  I go and tap on his bedroom door to tell him I will be back later, but he’s not there. Normally, he would tell me he was leaving. He didn’t. Well, maybe he did, but I didn’t notice. Not like I have been present for the past few days.

  I write him a note and leave it on the counter, hoping he will see it.

  I stand in front of the river in the bitter cold that is Detroit, pulling my hood lower to cover my ears, knowing it won’t matter at all. Nothing here warms me. Although it’s winter, it doesn’t matter here; every season feels the same to me—cold, dead, and numbing... until her.

  My chest tightens at the thought of losing yet another person in my life.

  The snow will forever be a shield, the cold a blanket, both covering your heart, your soul, like a protective armor. She warmed the cold, made my heart beat faster, exposed my soul, took my armor, and shattered it with words. In doing so, she allowed the heat of her arms, her body, her—just fucking her—warm me enough to allow something to grow. That something was love. Love for a woman who could never grow because of who I am.

  I destroy lives and love. I will not destroy her.

  Looking up at the eighteenth floor, same as I have for days, I see the light that I know shines from something manmade. But my fucking heart, the one beating for the first time in years, doesn’t believe it, not one bit. It thinks it’s coming from her, her heart to mine. Worse yet, the damn thing beats faster for her and wants nothing but to see her again.

  Fuck, I scream from my heart, my soul, and when I hear a gasp, I realize it came from those two places out loud for the entire surrounding area to hear.

  I look down at the ground, away from their fearful eyes. With my heart exposed, shining in her light, it’s fuc
king raw like it was for so many years, before it took solace in the winter behind the shield, the armor, and the cold.

  I see a shadow walk past the balcony window, then back by. Then, for the first time in days, I see her.

  Gripping my hoodie that seems to be shrinking, causing me to feel caged, contained, and making me want to break away, I try to breathe in deeper, try to calm myself. I can’t. It fucking hurts.

  She walks by again, and everything hurts—my heart, my head, my cock that is painfully strained against my pants.

  When she stops, pushes open the curtain, opens the balcony door, and walks outside, I see her hair is pulled up, and she is wearing what I think is one of my gym shirts. I am wrapped around her body. Not literally, but my dick and heart don’t seem to know the difference.

  It takes all I have to stay put, and then I swear she sees me.

  I step back quickly out of the light, and she leans forward. I want to yell at her, to tell her to be careful. She’s too far out of my reach, though. I couldn’t even save her if she fell.

  But she has, and so have I.

  Fuck!

  She steps back and walks inside. I know I should feel relieved at that, but I don’t. I want to see her, even if only from a distance. I want to see her strength, her smile, her body pressed against mine. I want to smell her, taste her, fuck her over and over again. I want my cock shoved so far inside her that it fucks her soul like she’s fucked mine.

  But I can’t.

  I won’t.

  I will ruin her life.

  That’s what I do.

  I wait for the light to turn off, knowing it’s what happens next.

  Fucking cold, I pull up my hoodie up again and blow into my hands while looking down at the ground.

  A watched pot never boils, I tell myself, willing that fucking light to turn off so I can go beat off to her image.

  “Angelo!”

  I look up when I hear my name.

  Tatum is crossing the street, running toward me. I didn’t think my heart could beat any faster until it does. And it doesn’t fucking hurt this time, not at all.

  “What are you—”

  “You can’t lean over the railing like that, Tatum,” I tell her, grabbing the front of her t-shirt and pulling her against me.

  “Okay,” she whimpers then licks those damn pink lips.

  I lean down to take them, wanting to own them, but I stop myself when her mouth opens to me.

  “Please,” she whispers.

  I don’t answer her. I take her hand and walk her back to the hotel. I open the door and quickly walk to the elevator. I hit 18 and wait for the door to open. When she steps back, I try to pull her toward it.

  “No.” She shakes her head furiously.

  “Tatum, don’t make this difficult.”

  She pulls my hand and leads us to the stairwell.

  I pull back, stopping her. “You really feel like trucking up eighteen stories?”

  “If I get in that elevator, you’ll leave me.” Her voice breaks, and so does whatever was holding my heart together. “I just want you to stay. Please stay.”

  “You’re leaving in—”

  “Two days. Please, please just stay,” she begs.

  “Get in the elevator,” I try to redirect us.

  She yanks her hand back. Then I hear a gasp and look over my shoulder.

  “What?” I snap at the bitches looking at me.

  When they look away, I look back to see Tatum opening the stairwell door.

  What the fuck? I think as I follow her.

  When I open the door, I hear her little feet padding up the stairs. It’s loud and echoes.

  I take them two at a time, knowing damn well she’s going to tire and not wanting her stuck in this stairwell with God only knows who else in here.

  I don’t fucking care that when she’s in New York, I will have no way to stop Legs from making shitty choices, but I will be damned if another woman I love gets killed on my watch.

  When I catch up to her, she looks over her shoulder at me, tears running down her face.

  “Don’t do that, Tatum.”

  Once on the landing, she turns and throws her hands in the air. “I can’t help it! I can’t, and I don’t want to. I’m a logical person. I am. I know when I came to you... I didn’t expect, not in a million years, to fall in—”

  I grab the back of her head and kiss her hard, stopping the words. I can’t hear them, and I can’t un-hear them. The visual in the letter, I got rid of them a hundred times, but words spoken, they aren’t as easy to throw away.

  Her tongue strokes mine, and I groan, pushing hers back and licking deeper in her mouth. I then grip her ponytail with one hand, while the other is on her ass as I lift her up. Her legs wrap around me as I push her back against the wall.

  She reaches between us, pulling wildly at my shirt, and then she pushes her hand down my pants, gripping my rock-hard erection. Then I yank up her cotton skirt as she guides me against her silky panties, then pushes them aside and rubs my cock against her heat.

  I thrust into her soaked pussy, and she throws her head back. I catch it before it hits the wall.

  “Careful,” I growl, thrusting fully into her.

  “Oh, yes,” she cries, grinding against me.

  Her pussy is so tight it’s almost painful, but I don’t give a fuck as I thrust in and out of her with the fierceness of a man possessed, and I am... by her.

  My balls tighten, and I feel her contract around me, squeezing my cock like a glove, as I fuck her harder, faster, until I feel white hot lightning shoot down my shaft. I try to quickly pull out so I don’t come inside her.

  “Don’t,” she says, thrusting forward and stopping me. “I want anything I can get from you. I want your come. I want it all.”

  Unable to resist, I thrust deeper than ever before and jet off inside her.

  Both panting, both sweating, both trying to control a kiss, I slowly pull out and set her down on her feet.

  “Don’t leave me. Just two days. Please, that’s all I ask.”

  I nod.

  Halfway up the stairs, she slows down.

  I squat. “Get on.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Get on,” I interrupt.

  I hike up the stairs with her legs wrapped around me in a different way than I am accustomed to with her. Her arms around my neck; her lips there, too. She kisses me the whole fucking way up, and it makes me feel like I’m walking on a fucking cloud.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tatum

  A man of few words, but one who stands by what he says. That is Michelangelo Mazzini. True to my asking, he stayed the last two days. My body is deliciously sore, and my heart is so full it’s overflowing.

  Somehow, we did it. We managed to finish the book, our secret game of sexual Mad Libs between our real-life game of sexual gratification. Both morning, I woke up to a new page turned down, or finished soaking in the bath to find Angelo writing.

  In fleeting times, we must remember what we have come to cherish. Annie, you are part of me in a way I never thought possible. I am a broken man, shattered really. Yet, you take all of these pieces of me and find a beauty in the mess.

  Annie, my beautiful Annie, your soul is bright white, a light almost blinding. In our time together, you have been something to look forward to. I don’t remember a single time in my life, or even in my career, when I have had such anticipation for anything like I do with you.

  We knew our time would be short, but it is something everlasting.

  My mind will hold on to your every detail, from the way your hair frames your face to the way you close your eyes immediately after you come for me. My body will forever remember the feel of your inner walls working my cock, creating a home for every inch as I slide in and out. With my body over yours, the way your nipples feel against my chest as I move over you. The way you arch up with deep breaths, only seeking more, will always be with me.

  Your skin
is soft, smooth, and like silk. My fingers crave touching every millimeter of you. Your essence and taste linger on my tongue, making me want to have one more lick of your sweet pussy. My mind craves our conversations as we lie in bed together. My heart longs to have so much more with you.

  I have learned quite a bit about myself during our time together. I always thought I was a simple man. Release was release... until you.

  Annie, you complicate me in the best of ways. Things I never once wanted, I suddenly desire.

  In everything I want, most of all, Annie, I want you to breathe again, live again, and love again.

  Tears threaten to fall, but I fight them back. I will not have this emotionally sad goodbye. I came to Detroit to find closure and to write a novel. I did both. Angelo gave me both.

  Laying the journal on the nightstand, I roll over and study the man, the masterpiece, beside me. Trailing soft kisses over his chest, I smile when he opens his eyes and looks at me. I press my lips to his, opening slowly, our tongues meeting. Then I close my eyes tightly as my body comes alive.

  He slides his arm under me, cupping my ass as he moves me over him. I feel his hard length and slide over it. The contact to my clit has me ready to combust. On my second slide, he enters me, stretching and filling me.

  “I wanna watch you, Tatum. I wanna see you work yourself over me,” Angelo says in a heated growl.

  Sitting up, I lean back, placing my hands behind me on his thighs. Lifting my hips, I rise up to where I feel his tip almost slide out, before I let myself drop back onto him. My breasts rise and fall in rhythm with my hips while Angelo watches, studies, and memorizes my movements.

  It’s erotic. It’s hot. It’s intimate.

  Looking down, I watch as my pussy swallows him up. We are joined as one, as I continue to slide up and back down his length.