by Amber Rides
“What are you talking about? I just saw her with…” I trailed off, swallowed thickly, and cursed myself for not being able to finish like a man. “I just fucking saw her.”
“Naw, dude. I don’t know who you saw, but that girl is here.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I wouldn’t be calling you if I wasn’t sure. And buddy…I am sure this is your girl. I wouldn’t forget a face or a body like hers. Stuck out like a fucking sore thumb at the warehouse. Sticks out here at this party.”
I finally sat up a little straighter. It wasn’t her, sucking face with the silhouetted man.
So who was at her house? Jesus. The roommate, maybe.
I shook my head to clear it. Relief at the realization that Melissa might still be free was fleeting. Worry quickly took its place.
“Cutter, you there?” my boss prompted.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, man. You wanna give me an address?”
He reeled one off, and I was glad that it was only five minutes from where I was. Hella-fucked-up-drunk.
I stepped on the gas, barely breathing again until I pulled my truck up in front of the squat house.
There was no doubt I was in the right place. The driveway was full, and so was the street. To park, I had to coast straight up onto the grass.
What I saw inside would normally have made me laugh.
Even at the relatively early hour, the house was wall-to-wall with flesh.
In one corner, a slim, freckled redhead on all fours acted as table for a group of near nude women played a round of cards on her back.
A pack of guys - some of whom I recognized from group the less-than-savory men I worked with at the lumber yard - crowded another corner.
I didn’t see Melissa.
My boss called out to me from somewhere on the other side the mess of flesh.
“Cutter!”
The rest of the guys heard him and followed with a mocking greeting.
“Cutter down!”
“Cutter out!”
“Cutter head off!”
Idiots.
It had been a long time since I’d surrounded myself with drunk fools.
Where the fuck is she? I wondered.
I couldn’t see through the smoke, and I had to push my way through a wall of people just to get to my boss. Halfway there, a guy with a ridiculous moustache slapped me on the shoulder and nodded toward the human table in the corner. “You here for a buy-in on the table?”
“Maybe later,” I muttered.
“C’mon man. It’s a riot,” the other guys cajoled. “Right ladies?”
“Sorry, Silv,” called a familiar, feminine, and totally slurred voice. “No dicks, just chicks.”
“You sure about that…baby-doll?” I replied carefully.
“What. The. Hell.”
The angry voice was like a sword wrapped in satin.
“You know this one?” the ‘stache-king asked.
I slapped a grin onto my face. “Little bit.”
Then Melissa stood up, and my smile slipped.
Where the fuck is her shirt?
For a moment, I was frozen to the spot with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. She had her hair in a thick braid that begged to be pulled. For whatever reason, it looked longer, wrapped up like that, resting right into the centre of her tits. Jesus. As if they weren’t hard-on inducing enough already. Shit. My memory hadn’t done them justice. Jesus-shit-Jesus. They were bigger than my fucking fists and perky as hell. For a long second, I considered crossing the room, bending down, and taking one in my mouth.
“Like what you see, mother trucker?” she asked in a voice that made me wish no one else was in the room.
And that’s what brought me back to fucking reality again. Roomful of people. Melissa, half-fucking naked. A welt under one eye. I gave myself a mental bitch slap.
“Yeah,” I growled. “I like what I see. And so does every other asshole in here.”
She glanced around, looking for a minute like she wished she was covered up. Then she squared her shoulders, making those gorgeous tits bounce once more before they settled again, and faced me straight on. The effect of too much booze was clear in her bloodshot eyes.
“I suck at poker,” she pouted.
“Put on some damned clothes,” I ordered.
“I lost ‘em, fair and square,” she replied.
“I don’t care if you’re Mother-fucking-Teresa and you gave them to needy children in Tibet. Find a fucking shirt. Or at least take mine. Before I make my hands do the job instead.”
“A hand job? You’d like that wouldn’t you?” she asked.
I took a step toward her before I could stop myself, fully prepared to show her what I’d like, audience or not.
Jesus, Cutter. Get. A. Hold.
At the last second, I stopped, slipped off my t-shirt and tossed it in her direction. It sailed past her, and it was impossible not to stare as she bent over to grab it. There was a huge, ass-baring tear just under her jeans shorts pocket. As if they weren’t already short enough.
I wanted to suck on that exposed skin even more than I wanted to suck on one of her rose-tinted nipples.
Melissa stood up again and flashed me a dirty look.
“Put it on,” I commanded. “We’re leaving.”
She held the shirt out distastefully.
“Just try not doing it,” I dared her, putting every bit of menace into my statement that I could. “See what happens.”
She gave me a wide-eyed look, and ducked into my t-shirt. It was then that I caught sight of the ring on her finger.
So she hadn’t given up completely on Danny the fiancé. The shiny rock flashed at me mockingly as she slid her arms through the sleeves, then placed them on her hips.
Why was she here, then, like this?
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she hissed.
“Right now, all I am is your ride home.”
I strode over to her, slid my arms around her familiarly enticing body, and flung her over my shoulder.
MELISSA
I wriggled against him, trying half-heartedly to get away. The world was interesting, upside down like that. And I could almost see his tattoo, which I’d kind of forgotten about until that second. I twisted my head to try and get a better view.
“Why is it?” I mumbled drunkenly as we moved through the crowded house.
“Why is what?”
“Why is it the griffin?”
He shoved open the door and took the steps carefully, one at a time.
“It’s a mythical creature, half lion, half eagle,” Cutter said.
“I know what it is,” I replied. “I want to know why it is.”
“Why it is what?”
I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see me.
“Are you drunk?” I asked. “I want to why. It. Is. On. Your. Back.”
He paused in his caveman routine, but didn’t put me down. Which wasn’t a bad thing, because the grass looked a little spin-erific from where I was.
“It’s fucking personal, all right?” he said roughly.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me, or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or I’ll run away.” I squirmed, but of course he held me in place easily.
“Stop that,” he growled.
“Stop what?”
“Running your hands all over me.”
“Tell me, and I’ll stop,” I countered.
“Fine. It’s a symbol of strength,” he told me. “Which I need a lot of at the moment.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“For fuck’s sake! No. Inner strength. Courage. My life hasn’t always been easy, okay?”
“Oh.”
He sighed. “Good enough?”
“Yes.”
He started walking again, and I let myself relax against him.
Because I’m drunk, not because he feels so fucking good.
Not because his bare back is so damned sexy pressed into my chest. Definitely not because I still want him.
His hands were almost – but not quite – resting on my ass.
“So warm,” I murmured.
Cutter shuffled me a bit, then I heard the click of his truck door, and he settled me into the passenger seat.
My head rolled to the side, and I pressed it to the window, thankful for its coolness. I ignored Cutter as he climbed in, and as he turned the engine over, making it roar to life.
I ignored him hard.
Until he drove right past my house. Not that I wanted to be there with Danny and Shelby and their private party, but still…
The streets passed by in a blur that made my head spin.
“Where are we going?” I finally demanded.
“My place.”
“I’m not staying there.”
“Sleep it off in the truck then. I’ve got some rope. I’m sure I can rig it so you’re safe.”
I had a sudden vision of Cutter, wearing a devious smile and not much else, snapping a rope between his hands.
“No way!”
He turned off the engine and raised an eyebrow at me. “You’re being ridiculous.”
I shot him a glare. “I am not. And why are we stopped?”
“Baby-doll, you’re very drunk.”
“So?”
“So look where we are.”
Cutter inclined his head out the windshield, and I realized that we were already in front of his building.
“Take me somewhere else!” I demanded.
“You’re a very difficult woman,” he told me.
“Stop telling me what I am! I’m not ridiculous, and I’m not difficult,” I protested.
“So you’re…drunk and easy?”
“Fuck you.”
“Later?”
He was never going to let me live down that little slip up.
“You had your chance,” I snapped.
“Listen,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “You can either haul your ass out and up to my apartment, or I can throw you over my shoulder again.”
“Like the Neanderthal you are?”
“Like the Neanderthal I am,” he agreed, poorly disguised amusement evident in his voice.
I was tempted – oh so tempted – to let him do it. I pushed down the lick of desire that told me to let go and surrender to Cutter.
“Fine. I’ll get out willingly. But this isn’t going to be like the time in the country club. Or the lumber yard. Or the goddamned hotel,” I warned him, aware of how ridiculous the list made me sound. “I’m not just going to - ”
He cut me off. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of touching you. I don’t even want to.”
How utterly insulting.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What? Why not?”
He smirked. “Because I don’t get off on taking advantage of drunk chicks.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You’re right. You’re not drunk at all. You’re fucking wasted.”
I unsnapped my seatbelt. With minimal lack of coordination, I slid across the front seat, flipped myself into his lap and straddled him. Cutter froze. I wriggled around a little.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
“Getting comfortable. My ass is kind of jammed against the steering wheel, and it doesn’t feel great,” I replied.
I shifted again, pushing myself forward so there was a bit more space between me and the steering wheel. It had the bonus of propelling me closer to Cutter. I inhaled sharply as I realized that whatever he said about having no intention of touching me, there were certain parts of his body that had other ideas.
“You’re a fucking liar,” I breathed. “And I know you want to touch me.”
“Not with a ten foot pole.”
I rocked my hips. The full length of his erection pushed against me. My own body sprung to attention in response.
“You like me,” I said.
He didn’t deny it, he just spoke slowly and deliberately, looking me right in the eye. “I. Am. Not. Touching. You.”
“All right.”
I pulled his t-shirt off my body, exposing my breasts to the heat of his breath.
“You better take this back, then,” I said, and tucked the t-shirt down beside him.
“No.”
My nipples hardened at just the nearness of his mouth. He kept his hands at his sides. I placed one of my palms in the center of Cutter’s bare chest, and dragged the other one across my stomach. I traced my fingers upwards in a slow, circling motion until I hit my left breast. I cupped it and leaned into him.
“Christ, Melissa,” Cutter groaned, his mouth brushing my nipple as he spoke. “What do you want from me?”
I couldn’t suppress my own moan. I was probably wet enough that he could feel it, even through both sets of our jeans.
“I want you. To be wrong. And to be sorry.”
“I am sorry.”
“You are?” I was surprised at how easily he said it.
“Why the fuck do you think I came after you?”
My brain was all muddled from the alcohol. And from the nearness of him, and the scent of his skin in my nose, and in my mouth, and…I tried to say something intelligible.
“I didn’t know you came after me.”
“Do you think that party was my kind of thing?” he asked.
“Do you think it was mine?” I countered.
“I don’t know. You were there, playing cards on a human fucking table.”
“Why are you sorry?” I asked.
“Because. Goddammit. Can we talk about this when you’re sober?”
I ran a finger down his perfect jaw, across his collarbone, and along his shoulder.
“Baby-doll.” His nickname for me rumbled through his chest, and I leaned back, not sure who was more tormented – me, or him.
Cutter reached up, and for a moment, I thought, and maybe hoped, that he was going to give in and touch me. Instead, he flung open the truck door. Cold air blasted through the vehicle, making me shiver.
“I’m taking you inside,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
CUTTER
By the time I got her upstairs, she was nearly asleep on her feet. She stumbled to my pull-out couch, collapsed on top of it, and let me tuck the blanket around her bare shoulders.
I glanced down at my ankle, pulling up the cuff of my jeans so I could see the monitor.
For the longest fucking second in the world, it glowed red. Then it flipped over to green, and I took a breath, waiting for the phone to ring.
How late was I?
My cell stayed silent.
I exhaled softly and turned back to Melissa.
In the few seconds I’d been looking away, she had flipped over. She was lying spread eagle, and face down. That ridiculous rip in her jeans exposed more ass than it covered. Her hair was a golden cloud on my pillow.
I wished I could’ve managed to get the shirt back over her head. There was abso-fucking-lutely no way I was going to get to sleep with her lying in my bed, half naked.
I’d never really felt so cramped in by my own apartment before. I usually appreciated the fact that I could reach my fridge from my bed-slash-couch, and that I didn’t have to sit at a table for dinner. Because with the big screen TV, there was no room for a dining set anyway.
Melissa somehow took up more room than all of the furniture combined. Her pleasant scent - currently punctuated by a hint of liquor that only made it sweeter - touched my nose no matter how shallowly I breathed.
I stared at her until I couldn’t stand it anymore, wondering why I felt like she was going to disappear any second.
I wanted to get out, to get rid of the overwhelming sense of despair at the thought.
But I was housebound, and even if I hadn’t been, there wasn’t a chance I would’ve left her.
I had nowhere to go but up to my studio. So I headed up to the loft, where I
could be alone with my thoughts and a canvass. Pretty soon, I was sorting through the first as I thrashed angrily on the second.
Why didn’t I just give in when I had the chance, to get her out of my system?
Part of it was because what I’d told her was true. I wasn’t in the habit of taking advantage of drunk girls. I didn’t need to. There was more to it than that, though. I was pretty sure it had something to do with the fucking ring on her finger. I wanted to run down the stairs, rip it off and toss it out the window. I refrained from doing it.
As hot and bothered as she was before passing out, I was hella sure she’d be pissed at me if she woke up and found it missing.
Besides that, no matter how much of an asshole her fiancé might be, I needed her to know I wouldn’t become the other man. I knew exactly how it felt to be on the receiving end of that, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
The kicker – the big, fucking kicker? As bleeding heart as it sounded, I couldn’t stand the idea of turning her into Brandy. Oh, the irony wasn’t over my head. I’d gone from thinking all those high-and-mighty bitches were the same to being damned certain Melissa was different. Too many drinks make people do all kinds of crazy things. I didn’t want to become something she regretted. I didn’t want her to turn those beautiful blue eyes on me and feel sad, or guilty.
I wanted – no needed – a clear picture on where she stood in her relationship with Danny, to know if she actually felt something for me.
“Jesus Christ, Cutter,” I muttered out loud. “You sound like such a pussy.”
I slapped angry strokes onto the canvas until my arm ached from the effort, then collapsed into the big chair in the corner of the room.
I dozed fitfully, plagued by visions of blonde hair, twisted up in my fists, and full, soft lips all over my body.
When a hand finally squeezed my shoulder gently, I woke feeling disoriented and frustrated.
The sight of Melissa’s slim figure dwarfed in another of my t-shirts sparked a heat that made me want to devour her, to sate my sexual frustration without thinking of the consequences. Her eyes still had that soft, sleep-filled appearance that doubled as a come-fuck-me look.
“Good morning,” she whispered in a voice that perfectly matched her expression.
