by Bijou Hunter
“I did too, but alcohol only dulls the pain. How can you fight a problem if you’re too drunk to see it?”
“Some people don’t want to fight the problem. Or they just want to relax for a few hours.”
Clove frowns at my answer before finally nodding. “My mom was a drunk. The booze helped her cope, but it didn’t save her. Only a sound mind can save a person. That’s why I’m not drinking anymore.”
“Not even during the crew’s weekly card games?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll drink then,” she says, shrugging, “but booze is a competition during the games. I guess liquor isn’t always about dulling the pain or hiding from problems. It can be about seeing who drinks the most without puking or passing out.”
“See what I mean? Sometimes, booze is just a tool for a good time or to win a competition. It depends on the person.”
“If my mom had friends like I have with the crew, she wouldn’t need to drink at all. They have my back, but she was all alone.”
“I hope you know I have your back too.”
Clove gives me a heart-twisting smile. “I do know. Tonight, you could have made me feel bad for acting like a wimp, but you didn’t.”
“I don’t give a shit if you’re a wimp. Strong people feel like shit sometimes.”
Studying me, Clove slowly nods. “Did you like hanging out with those guys tonight?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think they looked down at you?”
Stretching out on the couch, I tap her feet. “Not after I held my own with the pushups.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, I’m not. Men bond through competition too.”
“So I didn’t embarrass you too much at Suede?”
“I liked when you threatened the waitress. I want you to want me enough to cut someone.”
Clove reaches out and caresses my lips. “I do want you. During my wimpy crying tonight, I hoped you’d come over and hug me. Shay and Bebe were nice, but I wanted you.”
I probably smile too fucking big because soon Clove inches away from me. She hates giving up power, and I know she has a good reason to worry. Life hasn’t been easy for her, but I’m not a threat. The sooner she realizes I’m her future, the quicker I can make her happy.
Chapter Seven
Portuguese Variation of Louisa: Heloísa
➸ Clove ☆
“A coward runs from their problems” is something my father said a lot after my mother died. He claimed to be the kind of man who faced his demons. All these years, I’ve thought of myself as the kind of woman who faced hers too. Yet I can’t wait to get the fuck out of Little Memphis and away from the reminders of a life I left behind years ago.
I pack my bag before bed and wish we could leave this evening. Along with my remaining buzz, the current icy rain would make a night drive risky. We probably shouldn’t even go tomorrow, but I can’t stay in this town another day. Everything from the greasy food to Anise’s invitations to hunt bad guys pokes at the reopened wound of my childhood.
“I don’t want to have sex,” Glitch says around midnight after walking naked out of the shower. “I’m not in the mood.”
Enjoying the sight of his thick erection and heavy balls, I know he’s lying. He’s providing me an excuse if I’m not in the mood, but fucking is the one thing I can do without reliving shit from my life before Rawlins.
I wait until he stretches out in bed. Untying the lace on my top, I let it fall to my waist.
“I need to cuddle,” I murmur. “No sex though. I promise.”
Nuzzling under his arm, I maneuver my body to ensure my left breast is available for his fingers. My nails gently scratch down his waist before teasing the bush of hair over his cock.
“No sex,” I whisper and lift my lips to meet his.
My fingers wrap around his dick, soaking in the heat of his erection. Moaning approvingly, I stroke the thick length from base to its fat, leaking head. Glitch’s eyes close, and his face loses all signs of tension. My hand doesn’t falter, stroking him steadily. I pull my gaze away from his face and notice the pre-cum leaking onto his hard stomach. I can’t fight the urge to lean down and lick away the droplets. The minute I do, the tranquil mood shifts in the room.
Without saying a word, Glitch breaks free of my grip, pulls away from our embrace, and pins me on my back.
“Be gentle,” I hiss, startled by his aggressive behavior. I’m also worried about my only mildly excited vagina welcoming his super raging hard-on.
Glitch lets go of my wrists and presses one hand against my chest to keep me still. His free hand slides off my sleeping shorts.
“Open your legs,” he whispers, sounding pissed.
“Be gentle,” I remind him while slowly spreading my thighs.
“Why should I?”
“Because I said please.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Pretend I did.”
Glitch lowers his lips to cover mine while his knee opens my thighs further apart. I struggle against the very real urge to kick his ass. My temper hates allowing Glitch to control my body. Who the hell is he to hold me down? Why shouldn’t I hold him down instead? Despite my rising anger, I fight the urge to fight him.
Instead, I give myself a pep talk. Let Glitch be the man. Trust he won’t be a bad one. Focus on how he comforted me tonight rather than how he controls me now.
With great effort, I submit to Glitch.
My reward is him lifting my hips to allow him to feast on my pussy. I can’t believe how fast or hard I come. The man’s tongue is something very special, but he’s never turned me into shivering mush as quickly as he does tonight.
I whimper passively when his cock thrusts into me, driving deeper until his thick head gives my uterus a possessive tap. I stare up at him, submitting to the point of barely knowing what to do until he tells me.
“Roll your fat nipple,” he growls while his hips drive his cock into me. “Do mine too.”
I moan at the feel of my fingers tugging at my hard nub. I hadn’t even realized they were so excited until he mentioned I play with them. I lick the fingers of my free hand and tease his nipple.
“Oh, Glitch,” I groan, pinching them in the same rhythm.
“Fucking you is what I was created to do.”
Nodding wildly, I can’t believe how amazing he feels inside me. My pussy clings to his flesh, never wanting the thick, violent intruder to leave.
I love the look on his face when he comes inside me. His eyes clench and his lips part to release a primal gasp of gratification. I let go of my nipple and tease both of us, wanting to give him even more pleasure.
Glitch doesn’t roll off me and catch his breath. He instead pulls out his cock and gives my clit a slap with the wet head. Moaning, I want him closer, but he pushes away my hands. He wraps his fingers around my breasts, shoving them together so he can suck hungrily at both nipples. His tongue bathes each hard nub of flesh before tugging at them with his lips. Then one of his hands disappears between my legs, searching for my clit. Vigorously caressing the sensitive flesh, he sucks at my left nipple like a starving baby.
Gripping his hair, I hold him still while coming violently against his hand. I see stars and can’t form even an approving word. An animalistic groan leaves my lips as the painful waves of pleasure leave me broken. I am no one right that moment. Not Clove or Louisa. I’ve become nothing more than an extension of Glitch’s desire. My needs disappear, leaving only his behind.
I’m a slave now to the most freeing and terrifying sensation I’ve ever experienced and the man who brought me to this place.
➸ Glitch ★
In Little Memphis, Clove’s and my chemistry changes. I’m no longer the man she treats like the help, and she’s no longer the smoking-hot woman with the icy heart. Clove knows there’s a limit to the shit I’ll take from her, and I understand Clove is running from old demons. We might not have gained much on the business side of the trip, but the need
between us intensifies.
Clove and I ride back to Rawlins without stopping for lunch. A woman on a mission, she barely acknowledges me until we near city limits. Then she gestures toward an upcoming exit with a few fast food places. I follow her toward the off-ramp, but she signals for me to take the lead and pick where to eat. I smile at how she doesn’t dominate every decision like before we left Rawlins.
We stop at a Waffle House where Clove frowns at the menu for nearly five minutes.
“Want to eat somewhere else?” I finally ask.
“I’m not much of a cook.”
“Oh, they cook the food for you here.”
Wrapping her long hair into a messy ponytail, Clove smirks. “I want you to invite me over to your tiny house, but I don’t think you want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“When I came by that day, you seemed pissed to have me in your place.”
“I’m a private man,” I say, and her smile grows. Clove knows I’m lying. Her exotic brown eyes shine with amusement, but I also notice the fatigue in them. Maybe even fear. “I guess I like your place better,” I finally mutter when our food arrives, and our silence creeps into my bones. “It’s like stepping into your mind and seeing how you want the world to be.”
Clove studies my face before hiding behind her hands. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I do know I can’t eat until she settles down. Hell, I can barely breathe when she looks so miserable.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Peering from behind her hands, Clove sighs deeply. “I fell apart at the batting cages. Cried like a wimp in front of people I don’t know. It’s left me feeling exposed. I guess vulnerable is a better word. I feel judged too. Showing weakness in front of others has never sat well with me.”
“Everyone feels weak. There’s nothing to worry about. Besides, Shay and Bebe don’t seem like the kind of women to judge you for having a bad day.”
“I never cry, though. I didn’t even cry when we found Yarrow, and she was all fucked up, and everyone else was emotional. I felt bad inside, of course, seeing her like that, but I didn’t cry. I never even have the urge to cry. I told myself I was just cold inside, but now I’m crying over nothing. So what does that say about me not crying over an enslaved girl?”
“You found Yarrow three years ago, right?” When Clove nods, I go on, “You’re a different woman than you were then.”
“Yeah, because I had a purpose in Little Memphis. In Rawlins, I don’t.”
“Isn’t your living your life purpose enough?”
“I guess,” she mutters, clearly disagreeing with me. “When was the last time you cried?”
Scratching at my beard, I think back over my life. “I’m nearing my twenty-ninth birthday. The last time I recall crying was back when my mom died.”
“How old were you then?”
“Fifteen.”
“So you haven’t cried in over a decade.”
“I think I cried on the anniversaries of her death for a few years, but not really like I cried when she first died.”
Ignoring her food, Clove studies my face. “Did you see her... like when she was dying? Did she die at your house?”
“No. I was at school, and she was at work. I guess she took a few pills during lunch and went into cardiac arrest in the restroom. She was dead when they found her.”
“You never got to say goodbye.”
“No,” I say, searching my memories for my mother’s face. I don’t remember her well except for the frozen smiles in the photos I have in a small album. The real her faded long ago into the back of my mind.
“What would you say if you could?”
“Are you trying to get me to cry?”
Clove grins. “I wouldn’t know what to do if you started wailing like a wimp. I’d probably run away and hope the waitress was a good hugger.”
“You wouldn’t run away,” I tell her and take a bite of my waffle. “You might feel weak right now, but you aren’t weak.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Lifting my gaze to hold hers, I ask, “Do you really want me to invite you over?”
“Yeah, but I also want to hide in my house for the next hundred years. Is it possible to do both?”
“I’d rather spend the night at your place.”
“Why?”
“Your bed is more comfortable. I’m also training your cat to get excited to see me.”
Clove reaches across the table and takes my hand. “If I asked you to move in, would you?”
“You don’t want me to move into your place.”
Pulling her hand back, she frowns. “I might. My feelings for you are evolving.”
“Let them keep evolving, and we’ll talk about it again in a few weeks.”
“Because you don’t want to live at my place or because you don’t want to give up your place?”
“Neither. You’re not yourself right now.”
“I want you close,” she says, and the words leave my heart beating so damn hard I think I’ll puke.
“Why?”
“Because you saw me cry and didn’t make fun of me.”
“The crew wouldn’t make fun of you either.”
Clove rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her chicken sandwich. “You are mistaken, my sexy friend. So very mistaken.”
“Noted, but I still don’t think you and I are ready to live together.”
“But you’ll stay with me tonight?”
“Of course. I’m hardcore into you, Clove Jones.”
Smiling, she hands me a fry. “Does anyone call you Louis?”
“My dad does. My stepmom calls me Louie.”
Clove shakes her head, and I sense she wants to tell me something. She remains silent instead, and we finish our meal in silence. I catch her grinning at me, though. Despite knowing the reason behind her sudden clinginess, I can’t get enough of her loving glances and sweet smiles.
➸ Clove ☆
Heat hits me as soon as I open the door to my townhouse. Sighing with relief, I hurry inside and drop my bag next to the couch. Behind me, Glitch enters in the nearly soundless way he manages despite his size. I hear him shut and lock the door. My goal is to get a pot of coffee perking before I take a hot shower and slip into comfy pajamas.
“Do you still think you’ll stay the night?” I ask again as if his “yes” earlier hadn’t been clear enough.
“See no reason not to.”
I don’t know if Glitch is sick of my asking, or he’s having second thoughts, but his tone sends a sense of unease deep in my chest. After the coffee is on, I turn to him and frown.
“Where’s your cat?” he asks from the middle of the living room.
I take in the sight of him surrounded by all my desperate attempts to find the real me. The Filipino décor and Mexican art never helped me get in touch with the person I thought I should be. I like them, but they’re just things, and my strength always comes from the connections I had with people like the crew and now Glitch.
“Yarrow is babysitting him,” I finally say.
“What did you ever name him?”
“I didn’t. I just call him ‘cat’ or ‘kitty.’ He comes, or he doesn’t.”
“You ought to name him,” Glitch says and crosses his muscular arms.
I don’t know if his stance is supposed to intimidate me, but it does a little after last night when he made me his sex slave. “Why?” I ask after a long moment of silence.
“An animal needs a name.”
“Do cows have names? How about chickens?”
“I don’t know. You ought to ask Camo,” he says and relaxes his arms. “His family raises chickens and a few other farm animals. If I was a betting man, I’d say they name their animals. Camo’s mom is too much of a hippie not to. Hell, she probably names the fucking trees too.”
“You can name the cat.”
Glitch and I stand in our spots—him in the living room, me in the kitchen—and stare at one an
other. Deep shit changed between us in Little Memphis. I don’t think either of us is certain what to do with the new situation. I ache to cling to him while he seems ready to run for the door. Was chasing me only fun when he couldn’t catch his prize?
“So will you name him?” I ask when he watches me silently.
Glitch tilts his head, sizing me up with his smoky eyes, and finally smiles. “We’ll call him Gizmo like from “Gremlins.” That was my favorite movie growing up.”
“Gizmo is a good name.”
His smile grows, and I think he wants to laugh at me. “It’s just a name, Clove.”
“Do you really want to spend the night here?”
“I’ll spend every night here if you let me.”
I smile at the rigid certainty of his answer. “If you did move in here, what would you do with your little house?”
“Rent it out probably. Does it really matter?”
“It’s a cute house.”
“Yeah, but it’s out in the open. The setup you foxes have here is nice and secure.”
“So you will move in one day.”
Glitch takes a few sexy steps forward and smiles. “What kind of sense would it make to be willing to sleep here but not move my shit in?”
“Psychological sense.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he says, “Feel free to make me understand.”
“Living together sounds like a big step. Sleeping over every night sounds like pussy access. Psychologically, the latter is easier to swallow than the former.”
“When you say swallow,” he whispers, “you do a pretty little thing with your lips.”
Feeling nervous again, I ask, “Are you expecting sex?”
“You should assume the answer to that question is always yes.”
“I need a shower.”
“Why don’t you go do that, and I’ll pick up Gizmo from the babysitter?”
I gape at him, stunned by his choice of words. Glitch clearly knows he has the upper hand and doesn’t plan to return control. I’ll need to fight him for it. Today, I don’t have the stomach for a battle. Sooner or later, my temper and confidence are bound to resurface.
