Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection)

by Ricketts, SVC

  There is a synergy of motion, his entire hand and his tongue jetting in and out between the pleasures of what makes me a woman. He is what is changing me. Giving me the gift of what it feels like to be a female; evolving my senses with every flick of his tongue. The pebble he cast in my pond of normalcy sends ripples I did not expect in my fucked up life.

  The fight to pulverize his face to feel more is almost more than I can bear, but I don’t want to suffocate him. I hear his strained breaths and feel the warm, gentle gusts as a contrast to my wetness. The winding inside my gut begins cranking again, this time faster. His suckling mouth on my mound and the finger foreplay, spiral me into a frenzy of hip thrusts. The headboard gets most of my abuse as my upper arms strain to hold me rooted. I’m grateful for its steadfast stability and lean forward, depending on its strength.

  The new angle allows a wide, lengthy sweep of his tongue with every rock of my hips; a lick from slit to, as he calls it, clit. Without a pass of two seconds, I buck his face and a slow escalating growl builds in my throat. One of his hands goes to my butt and the other holds down my lower belly. When I still and my tone hits a certain pitch, he forces three fingers in to join his tongue and his thumb presses down tiny circles on the bundle of nerves. A wave rips my breath from me and a release like I’ve never felt before rushes from me. Alex sucks and licks every drop as if it’s a vintage wine not to be wasted.

  I’m afraid to let go of the headboard because I am still shaking uncontrollably. My body though, is weak and gives out from under me. I collapse next to Alex, trying to catch my breath. He strokes my leg and I shiver; my skin, extremely sensitive to touch. With a weak smile, through heavy eyelids, I gaze at his handsome face still gleaming with my residue.

  “Thank you,” I say through a sigh.

  He pulls my ragdoll body over into the crux of his arms and kisses the top of my head. We lie together in the most perfect silence with matching breaths. A sublime model of art waiting for the first stroke of a paintbrush.

  Every muscle laments movement, but his tented pajama pants catch my eye when it twitches. I reach down intending to give it a little attention. Fair is fair after all.

  Alex snares my hand and weaves his fingers through mine rolling me onto my back. He nips the tip of my nose and smiles. “This was about you, Trista,” he says and jumps off me.

  Whining, my lower lip juts out. “Awww…come have breakfast with me,” I pout, tugging on his hand. With my other hand, I push back half of his shirt I’m wearing to expose my breast. The cool air bristles my skin and peaks my nipple. I roll my palm over it and give it a squeeze, all the while watching Alex under hooded eyes.

  “I’ve created a monster,” he says, exposing the other breast and gliding his knuckles over the rigid peak.

  When he moves to rejoin me back on the bed, there’s no hesitation my body gives and he settles between my legs. He feeds on my breast as if it is breakfast for a starving man. His rough tongue licks and flicks my nipple in his mouth. My gasps and ‘yes’s encourage his greed.

  I reach between us and stroke his cock. He lifts his head in question.

  “Are you sure?”

  Holding his face, I smile. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The phone rings, scaring the shit out of us and interrupts the flow of hot and heavy touching. I sigh loudly. “Shit.”

  Begrudgingly, he rolls off me laughing. “Hold that thought.”

  Reaching for the phone, he answers, “Hello? Uh…hold on.” Turning to me, “Is your friend’s name, Kittarin?” he asks.

  Grumbling under my breath about her crappy timing, I scoot off the bed, buttoning up my shirt. “Kitta? Yeah.”

  “Yes. Please send her up,” he says to whomever, and hangs up.

  Not wanting to go commando, I grab a pair of his cotton boxer shorts from a drawer and put them on.

  “Now that IS sexy!” Alex says playfully.

  “Hold that thought,” I parrot his words, snickering and walk to the living room.

  “I mean it!” he yells from the bedroom.

  Musically, I sing back, “Shut up!” just as the elevator door opens.

  KITTA’S SURPRISED LOOK twists to a wicked, toothy grin. “Holy shit! Damn girl, you’re a hot mess! Way to rock the outfit, by the way.”

  “Nice to see you too, Kitta. Got my stuff?” I say, rolling my eyes, but smiling at my little secret.

  Handing over my duffel bag and my laptop, Kitta purses her lips. “Yeah bitch, you’re welcome.” Her eyes narrow and with a turned up suspicious smile says, “Now wipe that ‘I just had rock-my-socks-off sex’ look from your face.”

  Shocked at the words, I spin around. “I did not!”

  Alex steps into the room with the words lingering. Kitta blinks dramatically with eyebrows raised over large approving eyes. Nodding, she shoots me a congratulatory well done smile. “In pain, my ass,” she mumbles.

  Going to the kitchen, Alex uncomfortably asks, “Uh…anyone want some breakfast?” He scratches the back of his neck, slightly flustered.

  “Dude, it’s 4:30 in the afternoon! What have y’aaaaall been doing?” Kitta’s sarcasm bounces off the glass window as she takes in the view.

  “Kitta–Alex. Alex–Kitta.”

  Kitta waves, taking no notice as she leans her forehead on the window to look down. The sun casts an ethereal halo of light around her dark skin. If not for her big gold hoops, brow piercings, and her too short shorts, she’d look like an angel. That is, until she opens her mouth.

  “Did you call your mom yet?” she asks, watching the cars below.

  Slapping my forehead, I scrunch up my face. “Ah crap. No, not yet. Did you tell her anything?”

  “Yeah, you’re helping me cram for Trig and fell asleep at my house. But you better call her now, before she gets home,” Kitta says, tapping the invisible watch on her wrist.

  Alex moves over to me with a glass of orange juice extended. “Um…Trista, how old are you?”

  Kitta laughs, “Don’t worry, Casanova. In Georgia, she’s past the age of consent. She’ll turn eighteen in two weeks actually. I’m not as smart as her so I’m still in stupid high school. She’s a second year at Metro JC, going to Baylor after that.” She grins prideful at me. “But for God’s sake, fix your hair!” I blush and try to rake my fingers through my tangles.

  “We’re not in Georgia.” Alex doesn’t look relieved or amused. “And Marvy told me she was twenty-two.”

  “Marvy will say anything to get what she wants. You’re pretty cute ya know,” I say with a wink.

  “Not funny.”

  “Did you happen to see my phone?” I ask, rummaging through the duffel ignoring Alex’s grimace.

  It’s Kitta this time slapping her forehead. “Ah shit. I saw it on your desk, but forgot to grab it. Here, use mine.”

  Alex stands at the stove with lips tight and thin. His downcast eyebrows cause a cute little crinkle in his forehead while he scrambles the eggs viciously. “I do have a phone you know.”

  Grabbing Kitta’s phone, I begin dialing my home number. “I don’t want your number popping up on caller ID and freaking her out,” I say, cradling the phone while powering up my laptop. “Where’s my ear…”

  The home answering machine beeps before I can finish my thought. “Hi Mom. I’m at Kitta’s. Don’t call my phone, I forgot it on my desk. I’ll be home later. Love ya, bye!”

  “Your cuff is in the nightstand drawer,” Alex answers my partially asked question.

  Grabbing the hairbrush out of the duffle, I rip it through my hair while I hurry to the bedroom. The fact that I added a mic made watching the video all the more intriguing. Everything about that night is held in that little piece of metal and jewels.

  When I return to the kitchen, Kitta and Alex are in a quiet, yet deep conversation. I catch the word therapy as I walk in to which they both immediately fall silent.

  Irked, I exchange looks between the two. “What?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’?
Look at you! Whatever she’s into, you need to get out of it. You need to go to the police,” Kitta says, practically yelling.

  “I need to find out what happened first. Moreover, I’m not going to therapy. We talked about that. I can handle Marvy.” My hard glare to Kitta shuts the conversation down and then sizzles to Alex. “Don’t,” I say, lifting a warning index finger.

  I hold the ear cuff, inspecting it before hooking it up to the laptop via the micro USB, hoping none of the blood got in the port. Meticulously, I scrutinize each section, flicking off the deep red flakes. I disguised the port, mic, and camera as a set of jewels embedded in the face of the silver filigree cuff. It’s my pride and joy creation, but now it sits on the table, dented and covered in dried blood.

  It’s fine.

  Alex moves behind, placing a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me. “And I just thought it was pretty,” he says, the scowl parked between his brow, not yet diminished.

  His concern over my chastity makes me chuckle. Smiling, I pull up the video file from Saturday night.

  “I kinda wish we recorded the last few hours,” I tease in his ear.

  “Yeah, that’s all we need—evidence for my trial.”

  His attitude deserves the eye roll I give him. “Geez, get over it! You didn’t know. You’re a Marvy victim as much as I am. I think she thinks she’s twenty-two. Who knows, maybe she is. I read somewhere alters can be different ages. One guy had a sixty-two year old woman as an alter. ”

  “You’d be a hot witness, but I don’t think your testimony will help,” he says wrapping his arms around me. Alex leans in to nuzzle my ear, the small hairs that move with his breath tickling my neck. “But don’t think we’re going to finish what we started this morning now, sweetie.”

  My shiver stops cold as my heart joins my stomach in a braided twist. A salacious smile stretches my lips when I turn to kiss his cheek. “We’ll see about that,” I say and lick his cheek, “…later,” I whisper and blow on the wet spot, the ache building again.

  “EW! Stop it! I’m still in the room!” Kitta screams, covering her eyes.

  THE THREE OF US crowd around the laptop while I speed through till I see Marvy go into the club. “Damn! When did she get that dress?” Kitta marvels.

  I hold my fingers to my lips, “Shhh! I installed an audio mic, but I think her braid is hitting it.”

  The video shows Marvy walking up to the bar and the blonde bartender greeting her. “Oooo, is that the blonde you told me about?” Kitta asks, nose inches from the screen.

  “Seriously Kitta, shut the hell up or go home,” I chide, pushing her out of the way. “There’s a guy out there that beat the shit out of me and I’d like to know why. You okay with that?”

  “Sorry,” she whispers.

  Although frustrated at Kitta, I regret my tone. “Bitch,” I add lightly.

  Kitta chuckles holding no grudge. “Ho.”

  The music from the club blares through the laptop speakers, cutting the tension. I can barely make out Marvy’s conversation with the man Alex points out as Bryson Seviride. I pull up the audio profile controls and begin making adjustments to filter out the voices. It helps, but I still have to strain to hear so I pull up the audio diagnostics and whip out a few lines of code to apply to the program. As soon as I hit Enter, the conversation between Marvy and Bryson boom through the speakers. “That’s better.”

  Alex nods his impressed reaction. “She doesn’t look like a computer geek, does she?” Kitta says, poking me in the ribs. Embarrassed, I slap her hand away.

  Turning down the volume, I rewind the playback to when Marvy first enters the club. Just as Alex said, Marvy walks right up to the bar to talk to the blonde curly haired bartender. “That’s Dillon Maxwell, Kitta” Alex says, pointing to the bartender.

  Dillon lights that blinding smile when he spots Marvy. I hear Kitta whisper a “Daayyymn,” under her breath. I shoot her a pensive grimace to shut her up.

  “Well, hellllllooo, gorgeous! You’re looking fabulous as usual. Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Dillon said, handing Marvy the margarita.

  She accepts the unordered drink with a smile. “Salut Dillon! Xander est autour?”

  “Wait, wait…she speaks French?” Kitta marvels.

  I shrug a shoulder. “I’ve been taking French and Italian since Grammar School, Kit. I guess she picked up a thing or two.”

  Dillon smiles. “No, the boss man is laying low tonight. Bryson’s in the back and he doesn’t want a repeat of last night. Dude’s got an attitude tonight. Plus, I get the feeling they don’t like each other.” An eyebrow rises with his accusing look. “I can’t imagine why,” he dryly answers.

  In the mirror, I see a coldness glaze Marvy’s eyes. “Fuck you! No one owns me, Dillon. I don’t have a “Property Of” sign tattooed on my forehead. Men are my toys, meant to be played with. Having attachments to them is pointless. Their promise of love is a hook that comes with barbed provisions that have nothing to do with butterflies and fucking flowers. Even the ones you’re supposed to love, the ones you think you can count on. One day they’ll turn on you and be gone forever.” Marvy takes her drink, looks back and gives Dillon a wink. “Besides, I’m just controlling the fun to my advantage.” Dillon’s shaking head disappears from the view as she strides to the VIP Lounge.

  Before she enters, I hear Marvy take a deep breath. “I hope you’re getting all this, Trista.”

  Alex, Kitta, and I jolt back simultaneously. I look at Alex incredulously. “She knew what she was getting into?” His shock equals mine. Anxiously, we turn back to the monitor.

  Bryson, smiling wide, stands from the booth with his arms open. “Well, don’t you look amazing? I didn’t think I’d see you tonight. Your asshole boyfriend got you in a cab before we could finish our date last night.”

  Letting her sit first, he slides in next to her, but a good foot away. Surprisingly she scoots closer to him and glides her fingers over his hand. “Xander isn’t my boyfriend, silly. Why would I tie myself down with one of those?” Marvy says smoothly.

  I dart a side glance at Alex. His stony expression changes when he meets my sympathetic eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter. I knew she had others. Nothing real would come out of being with her.”

  A needle pricked at my heart with each word spoken, even though I knew he meant Marvy, not me. “I’m sorry,” I say anyway.

  “Don’t apologize for her. YOU have nothing to apologize for. Ever.”

  “Guys, listen to this,” Kitta interrupts as she rewinds the playback. “Who’s Milinka?”

  Marvy holds her nerves in control under Bryson’s watchful eyes. As casually as possible, she brings the name up. “So where is Milinka tonight?” The twinkle in Bryson’s eyes extinguishes, squinting with shrewdness.

  “Milinka?” He taps his finger to his lips, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

  “Oh, you know Milinka. You couldn’t miss her in a crowded room. I met her a few weeks ago. She was supposed to call me for a lunch and shopping date. Tall, blonde, beautiful…you know Milinka!” she says playfully, hitting his shoulder.

  I could tell Marvy was up to something. “What’s she doing? She’s acting all stupid.” This isn’t the Marvy I’d been watching all these years. Then again, maybe it is. This is the first time I’ve heard her speak. But the Marvy that finishes my math computations, knows French fluently, and has all those guys swooning, shouldn’t talk like a scripted idiot.

  “Let’s get out of here. We’ll go somewhere quiet, somewhere nice,” Bryson says, standing from the booth. He extends his hand to Marvy, which she takes without hesitation. When they exit the club, the view jars. Anger ripples through Marvy’s voice.

  “Hey! You’re hurting me!” The inside of a car rushes into the camera view making me somewhat dizzy. “That hurt. You’re going to leave another fuckin’ bruise. Where are you taking me?”

  Marvy seems purposely moving slowly as if she wants the ear cuff to take
in every landmark and street sign clearly. This must be why she put her hair up in a braid, so that it wouldn’t get in the way of the camera or microphone.

  She’s up to something that needs to be recorded for me.

  “What are you up to Marvy?” I whisper to myself.

  Darkness shadows half of Bryson’s face, but I can see his eyes watching Marvy. His gaze seems to penetrate through me—a solid, emotionless connection.

  “I’m taking you to meet someone,” he coldly says. His terse tone sends rivets of fear shooting through me. A slow icy finger slides down my back quaking my shoulders. The image on the screen shudders at the same time, Marvy must have been scared too.

  Kitta begins chewing on her thumbnail. “Oh shit. That doesn’t sound good.”

  The Mistress of Understatements, that’s her new name from here on out.

  BRYSON SITS QUIETLY as the drive was not brief, his dark mood saturates through the laptop, thickening the air in Alex’s kitchen. Marvy angles her head and I see a sign surrounded by manicured topiary hedges. The gold lacquered letters read, The Hills. The car navigates its way into the neighborhood and up a long, steep road before pulling up to a mansion overlooking the valley. Bryson roughly leads Marvy through the foyer, up the stairs, and shoves her into a bedroom. He is practically dragging her by the way the camera jerks all over the place.

  The only thing said was, “Wait here, I’ll be back.” Stoically, he pauses at the doorway studying her for a moment, then closes the double doors. The clicking sound of the lock blasted a mental alarm, and tightens my muscles.

  “What the fuck?” Marvy’s hand tries the door to no avail. She pounds on the door in tune with a scream, “Bryson! Let me the fuck out of here!”

  The view pans the room as I hear the clicking of Marvy’s stilettos on the Italian marbled bedroom floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows, not only provide a breath-taking view of the valley, but reflect the entire room.

  “Oh God! What do I do Valeria? Where are you? I need you!” Marvy says in a panicked voice.