Crave: A Bad Boy Romance

by Moore, Gabi

  Laova moaned and reached up to hook his neck and bring his lips back down to hers. “Not slow—fast.”

  “Not too fast,” he replied in a murmur. He kissed her, less gently than before. “Dear one, you have never lain with a man before, much less with a god. Be careful what you ask for.” His hands returned to her breasts, caressing, driving Laova mad with need.

  His warning was a wise one, and Laova bore under his hands with it in mind, writhing, letting her hands drink in the shape and angles of his body to try and distract herself from his patience. His legs rested between hers, so close to where they needed to be… Laova inched upwards slightly, aligning herself with the very erect proof that he wanted her, as much as she wanted him, now, right now…

  The Sky Father seemed amused and wise to her tricks. He slid down her body and Laova’s mind shambled apart again when he began working her nipples around his mouth, with his lips, his tongue. Now his abdomen pressed in the aching place where her thighs met, and it was not enough.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t bear this…”

  The Sky Father kissed her again, and one of his hands reached down, pleasuring her until she gasped. “If you can’t bear this, how do you expect to bear me?”

  She looked at him, and saw the humor in his face. She sighed, then gasped again at his hand’s tantalizing motions.

  “Please,” she asked again in a shaking whisper. “You brought me here for this… don’t make me wait…”

  “Dear one, you’ve waited only a short time for this,” he pointed out, lips against her ear. His breath was ragged, almost as ragged as Laova’s. “But I will do as you ask. Hold on to me.”

  Laova did, desperately, and the Sky Father moved squarely between her legs. She felt it pressing against her, felt his hands help part the way, and then his hips were pressing against her legs and he was inside her.

  It was everything she’d ever hoped. The Sky Father pulled back and thrust in again, and she cried out. Her very core roared agreement, and the Sky Father’s body pulsed and moved within her. Everything disappeared—she forgot about the people she’d known, and her village, and her harrowing journey up Star-Reach. Something in Laova’s mind opened fully, as if a window had been suddenly thrown open.

  And suddenly, Laova knew what a window was.

  Her climax twisted her and she felt as though she were breaking, but all the while, she saw things, understood things, that hadn’t existed a moment ago. The Sky Father lay within her, spent, breathing heavily in the aftermath of their hurried consummation. He looked down at her, curiously.

  And Laova blinked, thinking. Her muscles were loose and swampy with languor, but that was all right. All of the sudden, she had a lot to think about.

  ***

  “Laova!”

  Taren kept shouting it, running back and forth as if she might suddenly appear without warning. “Laova!”

  Exhausted, Nemlach leaned against a rock. She was gone. She’d just disappeared; along with the spirit lights. If he’d looked over the edge of the summit, Nemlach would have been able to watch the storm cloud below dissipate and dissolve, as well. As if its purpose had been served, it simmered out and vanished, leaving a glorious vista of the valley below.

  But Nemlach closed his eyes. The air was still too thin here, and this was too much. She’d been right there, within his reach. What on earth had happened?

  “What happened?!” Taren echoed his thoughts frantically. “Where is—she?!”

  “I don’t know,” Nemlach answered weakly. “All I saw… was the light… she’s gone.”

  “Gone?!” Taren was growing hysterical; his pale face was turning blue at the nose. Nemlach knew they’d have to get back down the mountain, and soon. “Gone? She couldn’t have just disappeared!”

  “She did.”

  “Laova!” Taren carried on. The situation was terrible, but to Nemlach that horrible fruitless shouting into the night was the worst of it. He couldn’t stand to hear it. He reached out and grabbed Taren’s arm.

  “Stop it!” He shook the kid, until Taren wrestled away. “Stop it! She’s not here!”

  “She has to be here… somewhere!”

  “What are you not understanding? She’s gone!” Nemlach paused; they really had to get down from this mountain. They would both die up here slowly, otherwise.

  Taren stood there, panting. “Nemlach,” he moaned. “She can’t! She has to, we have to… find her!”

  “Look at yourself!” Nemlach insisted. “We can’t even breathe here!”

  “You want to leave?” Taren asked in disbelief.

  No, he didn’t. The truth was, Nemlach didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to move from this spot again. He’d worked and labored to reach her, to save her. And at the last second, right out from his grasp… Nemlach didn’t want to leave. He wanted to lie down and die, freeze to die or suffocate, whichever came first.

  “Yes,” Nemlach lied. “We have to… she wouldn’t want us to… die here.”

  Taren opened his mouth, as if to argue.

  A cringing zap of light and pressure enveloped them again.

  It blinded him, just as it had the first time. Nemlach blinked, heart pounding, waiting for his vision to clear and for the night to reappear. Appear it did, slowly—Taren was blinking too, trying to get his sight back.

  But there was a third silhouette, as Nemlach fought to see straight. The mountain summit was just as it had been, except for the addition of a familiar figure, standing just where he’d last seen her.

  “Laova!” Nemlach saw her before Taren did, and ran instantly to her side, as he should have done the first time around. She seemed a little stunned, blinking in confusion. It was her face, certainly, just as she’d left…

  But her black hair had turned white.

  Nemlach stared at it; afraid his eyes might have been damaged by the light flashes. Taren had caught up now, and was standing beside them, staring openly at Laova’s hair.

  “Laova! What happened?” he asked, still unable to stop staring.

  She didn’t respond at first. Clearly disoriented, she clung to Nemlach’s arms.

  “It worked,” she whispered. There was a ghostly look to her, both wistful and baffled. “I… I’m back.”

  Nemlach hadn’t thought there was anything left that could possibly confuse him more. But then, without warning, Laova’s face crumpled, and she sobbed. Great tears froze on her face and he brushed them away carefully.

  “Oh, Nemlach!” she cried, and let herself be gathered up into his arms. He hugged her close.

  Nemlach froze.

  Slowly, he pulled back. He hadn’t paid much attention to her clothes before; her hair was startling enough, if he needed more surprises after her abrupt disappearance and reappearance. But now that he looked, they were not the same as the ones she had left in. Similar, yes. They were made of hides and furs, and cut in a fashion that almost seemed… intentionally similar to what she’d had. This was not what had drawn his attention.

  Laova watched him with great, dark, unreadable eyes as he felt carefully down her abdomen, to her distended, very pregnant, stomach.

  Just yesterday he’d lain beside her, touching her intimately, becoming familiar with all the lines and planes of her body.

  This was impossible.

  Taren stared, dumbstruck.

  Laova stared into Nemlach’s eyes, waiting. Things had changed in her; it was obvious, now that the jolt of her sudden return was passed. Her face… she was older. Not, perhaps, in years, but in knowledge.

  “Laova…” he whispered. Nemlach hadn’t meant to whisper. “Where have you been?”

  Her lips parted, and Nemlach watched as doors closed in her heart at the very question. Sadness quieted her voice as she answered. “Many places. Oh, gods, Nemlach, many places.”

  He laid a hand on her stomach. “How… long?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied.

  He glanced down at the swell of her bell
y; a prickle of hurt twisted inside him. “Who?”

  Laova squeezed his arm. “A god. He goes by many names. But this is the child of a god.”

  ***

  It was easier to descend from the mountain; without the storm, the only obstacle was occasionally slippery footing. It had been cloudy for days; they hadn’t been able to see the sky lighten over the past week, preparing to receive a reborn sun.

  But as the three of them stood on the high slopes of Star-Reach, Nemlach holding Laova’s hand, watching her every step, the brightening sky unexpectedly broke open. A sliver of sunlight struck them, and after so long in the dark it was blinding. Except to Laova; it was as if she had been in a lighter place, where sunlight had never fled.

  She looked out over the world that lay below, beneath scuttling clouds and towering mountains. It was a wronged and ravaged world, one that her people did not understand. She set a hand on her burgeoning stomach and thought that despite everything that had happened, perhaps all was not dark.

  Not yet.

  - THE END -

  STEAMY ROMANCE

  Part I

  Break

  Chapter One

  The woman in front of me was being fucked to within an inch of her life. Her entire face was flushed red, the color extending far down onto her chest and to her two swollen nipples. She was writhing like something possessed, as though she was about to combust into flames at any second.

  “She won’t come until I tell her she can,” said her tormentor to me. He flicked a sweat-damp fringe from his face and pummeled into her with more urgency.

  “What do you think – should we let her come?” he said through strained breath, flashing deep, laughing brown eyes in my direction.

  My mind raced.

  A year ago, I had only seen this man in pixelated images. He had been nothing more than ink on a newspaper for me, and now… now he was sweaty and deep in a yelping woman who seemed to be melting before our very eyes.

  Maybe I should back up a little. Everything happened so fast that it seemed like one day my life consisted of nothing but the endless cycle of work, sleep, eat …and then he appeared, like a dark hurricane, and turned everything on its head.

  It started like this: I had gone into work early that Tuesday to beat back my growing inbox and try to get a head start on the madness that the rest of the week would surely entail. I was in that sweet spot where I had successfully started at Cache magazine on the right foot, but after six months there, I didn’t need to be so ‘”yes ma’am, no ma’am” as I had been in the first few weeks. I was beginning to relax into my new role a little.

  I was young, sure, but sometimes having a lot to prove and nothing to lose is exactly the state of mind you need to write well.

  “Katie, come in here a sec, would you?”

  It was my boss Penelope Welsh, a severe pedant of a woman and dying supernova in the publishing world. She had used that notorious icy voice that could either mean I was about to be praised to heaven or threatened with my life. For Penelope, life was a dreadful bore, and she lived only for those moments of either sublime journalistic joy that made life worth living …or else eviscerating the newbie guts of baby writers like myself.

  It being only Tuesday, I hoped it was the former.

  “Your Tom Hood piece …walk me through this. What where you doing here exactly?”

  Her artsy metal earrings swung on either side of her head. She gestured to her computer screen like an unknown bug had landed there. This looked bad. As far as I could tell, Penelope asked people to “walk her through” things only so she could eviscerate them all the better. Shit.

  “Uh, yes, Tom Hood. I wanted to suggest that those nude photo leaks are kind of a new avenue for self promotion for him, that celebrities are looking for ways to manage their image by curating this completely fake online presence, except tha--”

  She raised a single bony finger to shut me up.

  “He didn’t like it,” she said, revealing a new cryptic streak that was unfamiliar to me.

  “Who didn’t?”

  “Tom Hood didn’t,” she said, relishing how ridiculous this clearly sounded to me. Her earrings had stopped swinging. I opened my mouth to speak, but she raised the bony finger higher.

  “He called me, you know. For some stupid reason. He says you’ve been unflattering and he wants an apology.” She turned her face back to the screen with a quizzical look. “As far as I’m concerned you did the asshole a favor with this piece, but what do I know? He doesn’t seem like he wants to cause any trouble. So, will you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Oh, right. Will you meet with him? He wants an apology. And he says he wants to do a more formal interview and a larger piece on this nude photo scandal crap. I’m going to have to bump Mira’s piece this month and that’s going to burn her ass, but he wanted you specifically, and I’m not going to turn that down, so I said you would. You OK with that? We kind of need it this quarter.”

  It was barely 5 minutes past 7 and I had already been assigned the biggest story of my short and desperate career. It was a lot to take in.

  All at once, Tom Hood was real.

  I had written a mere line or two of snark about him and now he had appeared right in the middle of my boring Tuesday morning, like a demon summoned with some kind of spell.

  I was thrilled. I played it cool.

  “Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual about it.

  “Good. Just see what he wants. I don’t mind where you want to take it, honestly, but just keep Eddy in the loop, too, you’ll need some photos.”

  She handed me a Post-It note with a time and place scratched on it in tight, impatient handwriting.

  “Tomorrow?!” I said, horrified.

  “Yeah? You can’t do it? I can get Mira to try -”

  “No, I’ll do it,” I blurted.

  I turned quickly to leave her office before anything else happened, but as I was about to close the door she quipped, “Well, have you seen them?”

  “What?”

  “The nudes.”

  Ah, the nudes. Tom Hood had had his phone “hacked” and all his precious dick pics were now “leaked” all over the world, and it was shocking, simply shocking to him. Not only did this idiot have the gall to try this stunt, he actually believed people would fall for it. The photos were pure trash of course – grainy candid shots of him in various stages of undress, one with him completely naked, a pair of bikini-clad models in the background, him laughing with an obscenely large dick just hanging there…

  “No, of course I haven’t seen them, ew,” I said, crinkling my face up.

  “You should. Guy’s hung,” she replied and returned to her work, smirking.

  Okay then.

  I went to my desk, the emails I was dead set on just a second ago suddenly seeming utterly unimportant now. The butterflies in my stomach had not abated. I chewed nervously on the end of a long-suffering pencil and typed into Google, “Tom Hood nude pictures”, looking once over my shoulder.

  Chapter Two

  By the time I got home that evening, it was already somehow eight o’clock and was drizzling slightly. I was bone-tired, a little scratchy, and in no mood to deal with what I found there.

  “Tigger’s got his diarrhea again!” he said, the very first second I walked in the door.

  My head throbbed.

  Tigger was nowhere to be found, but the vague odor of cat shit lingering in the air let me know immediately what had happened. My boyfriend stood lamely in front of me.

  “Jeremy! Really? I told you not to feed him scraps from the kitchen, it messes him up,” I said, flinging my bag into the corner. My eyes caught the sight of a sickly brown puddle peeking out from behind the kitchen corner.

  I wanted to cry.

  “What! You haven’t even cleaned it up yet!” I rushed over and found a guilty-looking Tigger nervously cowering beside the fridge.

  “Yeah, he only did it just a moment ago,” Jere
my said.

  “Well, when?”

  “Uh… I don’t know? I was in a game, babe, so I didn’t actually see him do it, you know?”

  I glanced my eyes over to his Xbox, a half open bag of Dorito’s spilling onto the floor. I glared at him, fuming.

  This was my boyfriend, the kind of man who would play Call of Duty for five hours straight, spew Doritos all over the floor and then when feeble old Tigger ate them, would literally watch him shit himself and think, well, Katie will just clean it up. When she gets home. From her job.

  Anger shot through me. I was too tired to deal with this.

  “How long have you been home, anyway?” I asked, slowly and not without a bit of poison in my voice.

  He looked away.

  “Oh come on, not this shit again, Katie. I didn’t realize I had to check in and out of my own house everyday.”

  Something in me snapped. His house? I’d had enough. I kicked the fridge with all the energy I could muster, sending poor Tigger scampering away.

  “I want you to leave!”

  He started to protest, but one angry look from me shut him right up. He stormed out, banging the door behind him.

  I stood there and waited for the throb in my big toe to subside, and felt my eyes filling with furious tears. Tigger poked his head round the corner to see if it was safe to come out again. I had had a long, stressful day and this is what I came home to? I crumpled down into a heap on the kitchen floor, defeated, and instantly felt my phone bleep.

  It was from him.

  “Don’t bother apologizing, I’m not coming back,” his message read. I nearly laughed out loud. Apologize? My first thought was to hurl the phone against the cupboard, but somehow I found myself doing something else. I rubbed the tears out of my eyes with the back of my hand. With a few easy swipes of my fingers, I was staring at my phone, at him again. Why had I saved these pictures? That’s easy: research. He’s a public persona, and one who probably loved the attention anyway, so there was nothing unethical about me having these images. And looking at them. Right?