by Ranae Rose
“Give me a call later and we’ll compare schedules.”
“All right.”
He walked out of the restaurant with her, and drove her back to the mall.
“Well, back to the trenches,” she said, flashing him a grin when she stood outside the mall’s doors. A light summer breeze swept over them and made her hair shimmer and ripple in the sunlight.
He’d never seen anyone look so pretty. A sense of disbelief teased him as he realized all over again how gorgeous she was, and that she’d agreed to see him again.
“Good luck,” he said. “Keep those perfume samples safe.”
Maybe it was a dumb thing to say, but it made her laugh, and that kept him from caring.
When she was gone he stood for a minute, then started across the parking lot, where he’d left his car.
Having her undivided attention for half an hour had left him with an ache in his groin, but it didn’t compare to the one in his chest. There was something about her that called to him – something besides her glossy cornsilk hair and long legs. He wanted her – all of her – all for himself.
He knew he’d just met her.
He knew he didn’t have the right to crave her like he did, or to expect her to return his feelings.
But none of that stopped him.
CHAPTER 4
Crystal couldn’t sleep. The central air was running, keeping her bedroom comfortably cool¸ and her bed was steeped in shadows, the streetlight dulled by blackout blinds that allowed her to use the gauzy decorative curtains she liked. She’d had a long evening after picking Emily up from daycare – they’d played for a while, then Emily had fussed when Crystal had put her in her play yard so she could cook dinner.
She’d burnt the chicken and set off the smoke alarm while Emily cried. The experience had made her wonder whether there was any point to cooking just for herself. Before, she’d often cooked for herself and James – sometimes Arianna, too – but her motivation had dwindled now that she was on her own.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to that afternoon, when she’d eaten lunch with Dylan. Conversation had come so easily between them that she’d been shocked – and disappointed – when she’d checked her phone and realized how quickly time had gone by.
She’d never been on a date with anyone who’d actually seemed to enjoy hearing her talk about herself before. And she had to admit, she liked hearing Dylan talk a hell of a lot more than she’d ever enjoyed listening to any of her past boyfriends. Even if it’d just been lunch near the mall, it was the most she’d ever enjoyed herself on a date.
He’d even asked her about her make-up tutorials, which was the last thing she’d expected. Maybe her perspective was skewed by her shitty past and the low standards she’d held men to then, but she hadn’t expected a man to care at all about her make-up website, no matter how important it was to her.
Dylan had surprised her, charmed her and captured her imagination. As she lay in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about his handsome face. She liked his dark eyes best, not just because they looked nice, but because they’d constantly locked with hers, sending little shivers of delight down her spine. But she liked his angled jaw too, and his lips – they looked good both when he spoke, and when he listened.
She wasn’t used to being listened to, and she liked it. Maybe a little too much.
Okay, a lot too much. The sketch he’d given her lay unfolded on her bedside stand, pressed beneath a book she hoped would get the creases out.
Still, her admiring thoughts didn’t stop at his face, as nice as it was to look at. Oh no, they drifted to his body – all strong muscle and bold ink, as far as she could see.
She wondered what he looked like with his clothes off – if his abs were as well-defined as his arms. If his chest was bare or covered in ink. If his cock was as picture-perfect as the rest of him, and what it’d feel like to have it inside her.
Her thoughts were out of control. So was her libido. She’d always had a healthy sexual appetite – or maybe unhealthy, depending on how she looked at it – but her sex life had been nonexistent since she’d found out she was pregnant with Emily.
It had to be, because she had to focus on staying clean and responsible, on giving Emily the life she’d never had. She couldn’t afford to let her own selfish desires take precedence, couldn’t throw her progress away over a man.
No matter how tempting he was. She’d fucked up enough in the past – she wasn’t going to do it again. What she wanted – craved – didn’t matter. She had to keep her head on straight, for her daughter’s sake.
Alone at night, in the dark, she’d ache. And she’d just have to learn to live with that.
With a sigh, she slipped a hand beneath the waistband of the panties she’d paired with a cami in a half-hearted attempt at pajamas. Almost two years of deprivation combined with thoughts of Dylan had her ridiculously wet. Her fingers slipped against her heated skin as she reached for her clit.
The press of her own fingertips against the swollen bud was like an electric jolt. Her body responded, aching for the satisfaction it’d been denied for so long. And her mind churned with thoughts of Dylan.
His eyes. His words. His tattoos and his hard muscles. The way his short hair shone like caramel in the sunlight, making her want to run her hands through it. She wanted all of it – all of him, craved him like an addict craved drugs.
She’d know. And it was that knowledge that had given her the strength to resist asking him for more than another lunch date earlier that day. Resisting temptation was a little easier when you knew firsthand how destructive indulgence could be.
She rubbed her clit hard, pretending her touch was Dylan’s. His hand, or the head of his cock – either one would be heaven, she was sure. She panted as she imagined his naked body pressed against hers, hard and tattooed in all the right places.
She felt herself teetering on the edge of release, and imagined his mouth on hers. The thought of a simple kiss tipped the scales and she came, her pussy tightening and pulsing even though it was empty. For several seconds she was almost satisfied, and then she was just breathless.
She withdrew her hand from her panties, letting the band snap back against her skin. Then she turned onto her side, pulling the blankets tight around her body. Her physical cravings were temporarily dulled, but much to her dismay, her desires for Dylan were still sharp – so sharp it hurt.
Feeling like an idiot and a hypocrite, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It didn’t stop a tear from escaping and dampening her pillow.
She’d messed up, bad. She knew that – lived with the guilt every day – but the knowledge felt especially potent now. Her new life was good, but it was missing something. Something she felt guilty for wanting, and knew she wouldn’t have any time soon, if ever.
Her time with Dylan that day had been an anomaly, a little taste of the kind of relationship she’d probably never have: one where she was magnetically, overwhelmingly attracted to a man who treated her like an equal. Who liked her for more than just her body. Dylan clearly did – he’d agreed to a brief relationship that would never go beyond meeting for lunch at public places, even though he was obviously physically attracted to her.
She wanted someone like Dylan so badly it hurt, but she didn’t deserve it. Not now, when her new life was still fresh. She had to become someone worth wanting. And she needed to prove to everyone – including herself – that she could hack it alone before she let anyone else in.
* * * * *
16 Months Ago
Crystal couldn’t sit down. She could stand, and lie – preferably on her side – but that was it. Which was a problem, because she needed to sit in order to feed Emily.
Emily’s screams filled the tiny apartment, letting Crystal know she was taking too long. Fumbling in the bag she’d brought home from the hospital, she reached for one of the ready-to-feed bottles they’d given her.
“It’s okay, Emily. Just a second… Here.” Her heart b
eat faster with every cry, until she could feel her pulse pounding in her temples.
After unscrewing the cap and fitting the rubber nipple, she knelt – gasping in pain – and undid the safety harness that held Emily in her car seat.
She was so tiny – just over seven pounds. How could she possibly be so loud?
Cradling Emily against her chest, Crystal attempted to ease her way onto the couch. As soon as her bottom made contact with the cushion, pain tore through her, causing spots of light to burst before her eyes.
Jesus. She’d barely known what an episiotomy was when she’d gone into the hospital. Now, she could feel every stitch buried in her swollen flesh. It was like something out of a horror movie. They hadn’t even given her any forewarning when they’d made the cut during her labor.
Her hips were narrow, they’d told her afterward. They’d been worried about the baby. They’d needed to get her out fast, and Crystal’s body hadn’t been cooperating.
Now, it felt like her body was falling apart. The only upside was that the incision was so agonizing that she forgot how badly everything else hurt.
She settled for kneeling on the floorboards beside the couch. It was awkward and put a lot of strain on her thighs, but this way she could use the edge of the cushion for support, so that she could hold Emily in her arms the way she was supposed to.
Emily spit out the bottle at first, but eventually accepted it and stopped crying.
Crystal shed silent tears of relief.
At the hospital, they’d asked her a dozen times if she wanted to breastfeed. She’d told them no, she’d have to go back to work immediately – she was a single mom.
They’d told her that lots of working moms pumped; it was no big deal.
She’d almost laughed at the idea of pumping at Guidry’s, the bar and grill where she worked serving up strong drinks and terrible food. To get any privacy, she’d have to barricade herself in the single women’s bathroom stall, or go out into the alley behind the building and hope she didn’t get mugged or worse.
Still, the nurses had managed to make her feel inadequate for using formula.
At the moment, she was just relieved that Emily was eating. At least she was doing something right.
Emily downed half the bottle, and afterward, Crystal managed to get her to go to sleep in the second-hand bassinette she’d gotten from a local pregnancy resource center. She didn’t have a crib, but she’d just have to worry about that when Emily got too big for the bassinette.
Her first instinct was to collapse on the couch and sleep while Emily slept – she’d hardly slept at all during her three days at the hospital – but the sharp, throbbing pain between her thighs had tears streaming down her cheeks. They’d given her a prescription at the hospital, and she’d filled it at a drive-through pharmacy on the way home, too dazed and pained to glance at it before tossing it into her bag. Now, it took her several minutes to unearth the bottle from her bag of belongings.
She expected extra-strength ibuprofen.
What she found was a narcotic.
Her heart skipped a beat, and her mouth went dry. Why hadn’t they told her what they’d prescribed her?
‘Like Tylenol’, she remembered the nurse saying.
Like hell it was.
Her hands shook, and the pills rattled. She knew she shouldn’t take an opiate of any sort, but here it was. Could she hold out?
A part of her wanted to flush the medication down the toilet.
A pinched feeling at the back of her throat reminded her that her pain wasn’t going to fade on its own anytime soon. When she stood up, it flared again, a supernova of agony that hit her every time she moved.
She couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t.
Nauseous from the pain, she moved gingerly into the kitchen, got herself some water and took one of the pills. It was okay, she told herself – this was what medications like this were meant for.
Within twenty minutes, she was lying on the couch, her eyelids drooping as her doubts about motherhood faded away. She could take care of Emily – she could do whatever it’d take to give her a good life.
She’d figure it all out. She’d gotten through the hellish labor; she could get through whatever came next, too. Everything would be okay.
* * * * *
Dylan woke up earlier than usual, plagued by a sense of discontent he couldn’t quite place. As he rolled over in his borrowed bed in the apartment above the Hot Ink Tattoo Studio, he realized what the problem was.
He was horny as hell.
He checked his phone and groaned, seeing that it was barely past seven. He usually slept until eight-thirty, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. His dick was like granite, unforgivingly stiff against the sheets.
He reached down and wrapped a hand around it, shoving his fingers deep into his boxer shorts.
Jesus. He sucked in a breath as a wave of pleasure mingled with pain swept through his groin, permeating his entire being. He felt like he might burst at the seams, make a mess on the sheets, like he’d regressed more than a decade in age.
Thirty or not, he was a temporary slave to the desire that’d pulled him out of dreams he’d already forgotten. Throwing the sheets aside, he sat up on the edge of the bed and gripped his cock like he meant it, blinking against the morning light filtering in through the blinds.
He thought of Crystal. Who else? He’d forgotten every other woman the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Her gemstone eyes and lithe body flooded his imagination as he pumped his hand up and down his shaft. What would it feel like to slide into her pussy, bury himself inside her?
He’d bet she was hot and tight, and that her pussy would pulse and clench as he pushed inside her. He’d bet her long legs would feel good wrapped around his waist, and that hearing her say his name would feel even better.
God, he wanted her. So bad he couldn’t sleep. What was he doing, setting up dates intended to go nowhere with a woman who affected him this way?
He was tormenting himself. He couldn’t get her out of his head, and the memory of her coursed through his veins with every heartbeat, making him so hard he actually woke up because he had to jerk off. He stroked himself harder, wanting it to end, wanting the desire to retreat back to an intensity he could handle.
He was in hell. A sweet, sweet hell.
He gripped his aching balls, feeling the weight of his longing weighing there, holding them hot and tight against his body. Thinking of Crystal touching him there, her slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails sliding against his skin, had pressure pooling inside him. For a few agonizing seconds, it was almost more than he could bear.
Then the balance tipped in his favor, and the dam holding him back broke. He swore as come rushed out of his dick, hot and overabundant. When it finally stopped he stilled his hand but didn’t unwrap his fingers from around the base of his shaft. Semen was all over his skin and sheets. He was a mess inside and out.
He felt somewhat better, but not completely. Firstly because his own hand wasn’t anything near an adequate substitute for another person, and secondly because his desire to peel off Crystal’s panties and get lost inside her wasn’t his only craving.
He wanted to see her, even if he never got to feel her body arching beneath his, or her lips against his mouth. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to just stare, and bask in the undercurrent of unexplainable pleasure that ran beneath his lust whenever he was around her.
He wasn’t sure what any of it meant, other than that he was in for a serious long-term case of blue balls. There’d been women before – maybe too many. But not usually for long, and not for the best, in most cases. Most of his attempts at serious relationships had crashed and burned, and one had just … dissolved.
But he’d never experienced a burning desire to do something as mundane as simply eat a sandwich with any of those women. He hadn’t longed for more time to talk when their conversations had been cut short. And he’d never experienced a moment wit
h them like he had with Crystal, when he’d felt that they were both looking at the world through the same lens.
He wondered if what he felt for Crystal might be capable of growing into something more – something better – than anything he’d experienced in the past.
Though he never would’ve admitted it out loud, he felt in his bones that it was. Which was painfully ironic, considering that she didn’t want anything more than casual dates, and he might be returning to Newark next month anyway.
Unless he didn’t. He was still seriously considering Jed’s offer to join the ranks at Hot Ink permanently. His impressions of the shop so far were highly favorable, and he was enjoying his time there as a guest artist. A part of him could see sticking around and liking it.
Another part of him knew that he couldn’t make his decision yet, that he had to take care not to be impulsive. Quick decisions usually ended badly for him, and so he’d wait a couple weeks before he let his mind settle one way or the other.
Groaning, he stood and did the same thing he did every morning – went straight to the kitchen, looked out the window at a city bathed in morning light and got himself a glass of water he used to wash down a handful of pills.
CHAPTER 5
For the third time that morning, Crystal found herself engaged in an intense round of peek-a-boo. Every time she uncovered her face, she made one of the animal sounds from Emily’s favorite picture book, which was about farm animals. She would’ve felt ridiculous, if it hadn’t been for the way Emily’s face lit up every time she did it.
She’d do anything to see Emily look like that. The sight of her smile made Crystal feel like she was doing something right, like all her sacrifices and desperate struggles had been worth it. Her little girl wouldn’t have to endure the things Crystal had as a child.
Most importantly, she wouldn’t end up like her mother had. That thought was the driving force behind everything Crystal did.
