by Chloe Walsh
"Huh?"
Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to my lips. "Just do it."
Shivering, I nodded. "Give me a truth, Sketch."
"I've only kissed two people in my entire life," he confessed, lips tracing the curve of my jaw, as he reached a hand between us and gently brushed mine out of the way to fist his shaft. "And they're both inside this room."
"Wh-what?"
"I'm a virgin, Ro," he whispered, trembling as he positioned himself at my entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging my slit. Almost instinctively, he reached for my thigh and hooked it around him. "There's been nobody else before or since you."
"Not even –"
"Nobody," he confirmed huskily as he slowly entered me. "I love you."
A pained hiss tore from my lips and I clutched at his neck, dragging his face down to mine, as I breathed through the intrusion.
"Are you okay?" he demanded, voice laced with concern as he froze in place.
"Yeah." Shivering, I forced a nod. "Just stings."
"Fuck, I'm not even all the way in, Ro." Exhaling a ragged breath, he pressed his brow to mine. "Should I stop? I don’t wanna hurt you."
"No, it's okay, don’t stop," I instructed, forcing my body to relax and adjust to the size of him. "I want this." Craning my neck up, I pressed a kiss to his lips. "I want you." I kissed him again, deeper this time. "Do it," I encouraged breathily, keeping his lips pressed to mine. "Take it."
Groaning into my mouth, he sank deeper inside me, shuddering when he pushed all the way in, taking my virginity while giving me his.
"Oh god,” I strangled out in discomfort. "Holden –" Clutching his neck for all I was worth, I clung to his body, while I tried to adjust to the sensation of having a man inside my body. "You're so big."
"Fuck, you're so tight," he strangled out, holding still inside me once more. "Ro, you okay, baby? Am I doing it right?"
"So damn right," I whispered, kissing him back when his lips found mine. "I feel so full of you."
"Fuck, don’t say that, baby," he groaned, trembling above me. "Anything but that."
"Move in me," I begged, moaning when I rolled my hips and a jolt of pleasure rippled through me.
Groaning, he slammed his lips against mine as he pulled out and tentatively rocked into me again, causing both of us to jerk and shudder from the amazing sensation coursing between us. He did it again and again, thrusting in and out, deep and slow, until we slowly found our rhythm.
Feeling my eyes burn from the pressure of having his big body joined with mine, I exhaled a ragged breath and bit down hard on my lip as I arched into his rhythmic thrusts. I moaned loudly, wanting him to break me in half because I could think of no better way to go. His lips scorched a burning trail from my neck to the tips of my straining breasts and back up.
Sweat beaded Sketch's brow as he moved above me, every muscle in his body coiled tight with tension. "I'm close, Ro," he confessed several minutes later, hips moving faster now as his body hunted for release.
"Me, too," I panted, bucking my hips clumsily against his, as the familiar tingling sensation built up inside my body at a rapid rate.
"Any way I can get you there faster?" he bit out, jaw clenched. "Because I'm gonna come soon."
"My clit," I breathed, scratching and clawing at his back. "Rub it."
Claiming my lips once more, he slipped a hand between us and thumbed my throbbing clit. "God," I whimpered into his mouth as his tongue dueled with mine, swallowing up my breathy moans. His hands were rough and calloused from years of playing football, but he knew exactly how to use them on me.
Working my clit over with his skilled fingers, he continued to pump into me until an orgasm ripped from my body. "I'm coming!" Jerking uncontrollably beneath him, I clawed at his arms as my body rode the wave of pleasure. "Oh god, I'm –"
"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he growled, thrusting harder. Hips moving at an almost frantic pace, Sketch slammed into me over and over before his entire body tensed up. Shuddering, he pushed himself as deep inside of me as he could get, hips jerking, as a blast of heat filled me up.
Blowing out a shaky breath, he buried his face in my neck. "Jesus."
Trembling, I cradled his head in my hands. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He pulled back to look at me, dick still pulsing inside of me. "Are you?"
Nodding, I cupped his jaw and pressed a kiss to his swollen lips. "I love you."
"I love you more," he replied, nuzzling my nose with his.
A small smile tugged at my lips. "So, that was sex, huh?"
He grinned wolfishly, breathing still ragged. "Apparently."
"Yes, that was sex, you inconsiderate bastards," a familiar voice slurred from the far side of the room. "Very good sex, by the sounds of it. Congratulations, vagina-muncher; making her orgasm during vaginal penetration her first time round is impressive. No whiskey dick for you, huh? Alas, you're both virgins no more. Now, pull your bionic dick out of the female and stop rocking the damn headboard. Some of us need a full eight hours sleep to function."
"Goddammit, Quinton," Sketch growled. "You're like a bad smell that keeps popping up."
"And you're like a walking wet dream," Pres called back. "Thanks for the audio. I'll be sure to lodge it in the spank-bank under the label Sketch the giver."
"You better not even think about rubbing off to me, fucker –"
Catching Sketch's chin, I pulled his lips back to mine, successfully distracting him from falling into the trap of bantering with an unbeatable brainiac.
Keeping his lips on mine, he kissed me deeply as he slowly pulled his softening dick out, licking and nibbling at my lips to soothe the ache when I winced. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he whispered in my ear as he rolled me on top of him. "I'll do better next time."
"I think you did pretty damn great this time." A deep breath escaped my parted lips and I reached up to brush his hair off his face. "So pretty," I whispered, trailing my fingers through his dark locks.
A deep hum came from his chest, like a lion purring in contentment. He leaned into my touch, lips moving to my wrist. Nuzzling the inside of my wrist with his nose, he pressed his lips to the skin covering my erratic pulse and kept them there. "This is it, Ro." His blue eyes were bright and locked on mine. "Too late to change your mind now."
"I don’t want to," I replied, snuggling into his chest, completely spent. Feeling more content than I had in years, I stroked my cheek against his chest and let my hand trail to his hip, fingers tracing his birthmark absentmindedly.
"You still like touching that thing," he mused, hooking an arm around my waist.
"Apparently. I still have no idea why," I shot back with a smirk, remembering how I had always been fascinated with his creepy birthmark. "It feels gross."
"That's because it's not a birthmark," Presley once again decided to join in on our private conversation. "It's a burn scar."
"The fuck is your drunk ass talking about?" Sketch chuckled. "I've had it since I was a baby."
"Then you were burned as a baby because that thing on your hip shaped like a T is the result of some deep tissue scarring."
Sketch snorted. "Sure thing, Dr. Quack."
"Wait –" Springing up in a rush, I threw the covers back and stared down at his marred flesh. "Holy shit," I breathed, eyes locked on his marred, uneven skin. "I think he's right, Sketch."
"No, he's not," he scoffed, covering us back up. "He's drunk and talking shit."
"I am right," Presley chimed in. "If that's been on you since birth, then you were marked at birth."
My eyes widened in horror. "Marked?"
Sketch shook his head. "It's bullshit. Don’t listen to him."
"When I first saw it, it looked like a scar from a branding iron," Pres continued, unaffected by Sketch's words. "I thought it was from some dumbass football ritual or other." A moment passed before Presley sat up. "Holy fuck." Eyes widening, he scrambled onto his hands and knees and crawled towards us. "Show me that thing."
<
br /> "Get the fuck away from me," Sketch warned, yanking me back down on his chest so he could cover us both with the blanket.
"Covers off," Pres ordered, unperturbed. "I need to get a closer look at that bad boy."
"Come any closer and I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you," Sketch snarled, glaring at Presley who was lurking at the foot of our bed. "I mean it, asshole. I ain't fucking around. Get out of here."
Out of nowhere, a dull, almost dreamlike flashback of a red-hot branding iron flashed in my mind, but I quickly blocked the image out, physically recoiling from the very notion.
"Ro?" Sketch asked, immediately noticing my reaction. "What's wrong?"
"Um, nothing." Shaking my head, I leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve what little clothes we'd been wearing. "I just need to… uh…" Tossing Sketch's boxers onto his chest, I kept my back to Presley and quickly shrugged on my shirt before climbing off the bed. "Use the bathroom."
"I'm gonna kill you," I heard Sketch growl as I hurried into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.
Chest heaving, I leaned against the door and covered my face with my hands, willing myself not to think about it. To not remember.
A dark room.
The boy.
Blue eyes.
The boy.
A lock and key.
The boy.
Burning flesh.
The boy.
The boy.
The boy...
"Romi, let me in," Sketch's voice infiltrated my thoughts as he knocked on the door. "Come on, Ro, open the door."
Gasping for air, I twisted around and flung the door open, eyes wide and full of terror when they landed on his face. "The boy," I choked out, clutching at my chest. "You're the boy."
Sketch frowned, his confusion obvious. "What?"
"The little boy from the dream." Trembling, I snagged his hand and pulled him into the bathroom, hands roaming frantically over his chest. "It was you."
"Ro, that was just a dream," Sketch coaxed, reaching up to snag my hands. "It's not real, baby."
"It is real," I sobbed, gaze flicking to the mark on his hip that was partially concealed by his boxers now. "I know, Sketch. I remember." Swallowing down a mouthful of bile, I reached out and touched his mark. "I was there."
"You remember what?" he demanded, sounding frustrated. "Where the hell were you?"
"In the room behind the locked door," I choked out, tears filling my eyes, as I pointed to his hip. "The day they gave you that."
"I knew it!" Presley declared, barging into the bathroom, eyes bright with excitement. "I fucking knew she was withholding!"
"Chris was right," I wailed, face contorting in pain as a huge sob racked through me. "Nothing in Pocketful is as it seems."
"Shut the hell up, Quinton!" Sketch snapped, shoving Pres away from me. "What are you talking about, Ro?" he demanded, eyes laced with confusion and pain. "Are you saying someone burned me?"
Numb.
I was frozen to the bone.
Terror seeped from every pore in my body.
"Romi!" Sketch barked, closing the space between us. "Answer me, dammit!"
I couldn’t answer him.
I couldn’t freaking breathe.
My whole world was crashing down on me.
Everything was slipping into place.
My past.
My present.
His past.
Chris…
Like a cruel twist of fate, or the bitter sting of a reality check, a loud hammering noise came from the main door of our motel room. "Open the door, boy, or I'll kick it in!"
"Oh, holy fuck," Presley strangled out, eyes growing wide as saucers. "Is that her–"
"Father?" Sketch offered grimly. "Yeah, sounds about right."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sketch
Storming through the bedroom, I unlocked the door, in no damn mood to deal with Cal fucking Dillon. Romi had, once again, turned my life on its axis and I needed answers, not a hysterical parent screaming at me.
Beyond confused and fresh out of patience, I willed my racing mind to calm the fuck down. I needed to have my wits about me when dealing with a shark like Romi's father. Otherwise, he would eat me alive.
Yanking the door inwards, I not only came face to face with Cal and my father, but my mother was standing there, too.
"Mama?" My brows creased in confusion at the sight of her. "What are you –"
Her palm connected with my cheek before I could finish. "How dare you take that girl out of hospital without permission!" she seethed, glaring up at me, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Have you any idea how worried her father has been?"
And there she was. My mama; hard as steel and cold as concrete.
"We thought you'd been taken," she continued to rant, her red-rimmed eyes the only sign she was shaken-up on her otherwise perfectly-plastic face. "You didn’t call your father for almost a week, Holden!"
I wouldn’t have called at all if I hadn't been drinking, I mentally replied. Instead, I turned my attention to my father. "Dad."
He nodded in acknowledgment. "Holden." His gaze trailed over me. "You're in one piece."
"Are you disappointed?"
"Relieved," he surprised me by saying.
"So, how'd you find me?"
"Your father and Cal traced the Presley boy's phone," Mama answered for him. "Romi placed a call to Cal on it yesterday morning." Her eyes blazed with fury when she hissed, "I should've known that little freak would be mixed up in this. He was always sniffing around your brother – bringing nothing but trouble to the door."
I sighed heavily. "Presley ain't a freak, Mama. He's a good guy."
"Where is she?" Cal rudely interrupted, shoving past me to stalk into the room. "Ramona Priscilla Dillon, you better come out right this minute, young lady, before I tear this prick apart, limb from limb."
"Fucking try it," I sneered, folding my arms across my chest.
"No need to do that," Presley called out, skulking out of the bathroom with Romi in tow – Romi, who looked like she had seen a ghost.
"Jesus Christ!" Heaving out a huge sigh, Cal closed the space between them and wrapped her up in his arms. "You're okay."
Unlike every other time I'd seen them together, Romi flinched away from her father's touch, turning to stone in his arms.
With the alcohol still floating around in my system, I was having a hard time trying to figure out what the hell was happening with her, but I knew this wasn't good. "What's wrong?" I demanded, stepping around my parents who had strode into the room. "Ro –"
"Get the hell away from her," Cal seethed, keeping her tucked tightly under his arm. "You've done enough damage to her. My daughter is coming with me."
"Like hell she's going anywhere with you," I snarled, snagging Romi's hand and quickly yanking her away from him. She came willingly, burying her face in my chest. "Ya'll can back the fuck up, too," I growled, casting a warning glance at my parents who were edging closer to us.
"Holden!"
"Back off, Mama," I warned, keeping a protective arm wrapped around Romi. "I ain't playing around here."
"Run," Romi mumbled, fingernails digging into my sides. "Run now."
"Romi?" Pres whispered, hovering behind me. "What is it?"
"Please hurry," she croaked out, trembling. "I don’t wanna fall out of the treehouse again. No one will find me there. Hidden away."
Presley's eyes widened and something passed between them, something I was completely fucking oblivious to. "I see."
"The Boss," she choked out, shaking violently. "Papa Don't Preach."
"Springsteen?" I asked, feeling at a complete loss. "Madonna?"
"Maybe we'll get lucky," she continued to rave, eyes glued to Presley. "Maybe we'll all go sailing someday."
"Can't you see how unwell my daughter is?" Cal demanded, attention on my father. "She needs professional help, Chris, not some TLC from a teenage fucking boy. He's not helping
matters."
"Your daughter was just fine until you showed up." Keeping an arm hooked around her, I slowly backed us further into the room. "And she ain't going back to that damn hospital, if that's why you're here," I warned, glowering at him. "Over my dead body."
"Holden," Dad interjected calmly. "You need to calm down, son."
"No, no, no," Romi wailed, fingernails digging into my sides so deep, I knew she'd cracked the skin. "Nothing in Poc –" Her words broke out and she sobbed into my chest, "…as it seems."
"Shh." Keeping one arm hooked around her waist, I cradled her head with my free hand, fingers tangling in her blonde mane, watching as Presley quietly skulked towards the door. "I've got you, baby."
"Baby," Cal sneered. "Well, didn’t you change your tune?"
"No thanks to you," I countered hotly.
"Now, now, now," Romi cried out and Presley swiped my keys off the windowsill before barreling out of the room.
"Clever boy," Cal sneered before reaching a hand behind his back and withdrawing a gun. "Now, step away from my daughter, you little runt."
"Hold the fuck up," I choked out, shoving Romi behind my back. "Just relax –"
"Run, Sketch," Romi sobbed, clawing at my back. "Run now and don’t ever look back."
"I told you this would happen!" Cal roared, his manic gaze flicking to my father. "We all did, but you wouldn't listen. You couldn't leave well enough alone and now look where we are."
"Cal, put the gun down," Dad ordered calmly. "You're not helping matters."
"Look at her!" Cal roared. "She knows, Chris. She fucking knows about the trade."
"Knows what?" I demanded. "What goddamn trade?"
"This is over," Cal snarled, cocking the hammer, gun aimed at my chest. "I'm done with this fucker."
"Jesus Christ," I strangled out, legs shaking violently, as I backed us into a corner, protecting her body with mine. "Stay behind me, Ro."
"You're making a terrible mistake," Dad warned, voice harder now. "Pull that trigger and all hell will break lose. You'll start a war you can't win, Cal."
"I'm already at war," Cal sneered.
And then he pulled the trigger.
