by Zoey Oliver
“Thanks for letting me come,” she says, a small, sad smile on her pretty pouty lips. “Who’s Ava?”
“Kamala’s social worker,” I say. “She lives with a foster family that takes care of a lot of kids with special medical needs.”
Tori nods. “So why does her social worker call you when she’s in the hospital?”
I shrug. “Kamala and I just have this… bond. I don’t know. We’ve always gotten along really well and she doesn’t really have anyone else. Ava’s got a thousand more kids, and her foster family is nice enough, but they’ve got their hands full. There’s no one else who’s just going to go sit with her and talk about ponies. We’ve always just… clicked.”
It’s not just that. I’ve always been protective of Kamala, too. And whenever she’s not feeling good, I want nothing more than to make everything better. I care about all my kids, obviously, and have a special relationship with a number of them, but Kamala’s always been extra special.
“Have you ever thought about adopting her?”
I freeze in the middle of the hospital parking garage like I just ran into a brick wall. It only lasts a second before I’m back in stride with Tori, but the shock of the question shoves roots deep into my brain.
Why hadn’t I ever thought about that?
“No,” I say truthfully. Then my mouth supplies the reasoning without me even having to think of it. “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let an ex-heroin addict without a real job adopt a sick orphan.”
She frowns, but doesn’t argue with me. And even though it sounds pretty cut and dried when I say it like that, I can’t stop thinking about the possibility the rest of the afternoon.
Chapter 6
Tori
For dinner, Serge takes me to this little taco truck and we eat on the sidewalk. It’s the best damn meal I’ve ever had.
“How’d you find this place?” I ask, walking back up to the window to order another round.
Serge shrugs, his big broad shoulders moving so gracefully I can’t help but watch.
“I’ve spent a lot of time in the neighborhood, gotten to know the people. How’s Ricky doing?” he shouts over me into the truck.
From the grill, a stranger’s face pushes into view, grinning from ear to ear.
“Serge!” the old man says in a thick accent. “I didn’t know it was you making me sweat like this back here,” he chuckles, swiping the back of his arm over his forehead.
Serge grins. “You know I can’t resist your tacos, Eduardo. Is your nephew staying out of trouble?”
He disappears and I hear the sound of his spatula scraping on the grill before he comes back.
“Ricky’s good. Good boy.”
“Still in school?” Serge asks and Eduardo nods.
“Good grades, too. Making us all proud.” The guy plates up our tacos and hands them through the window with a big grin and a wink. “No charge for you, friend.”
“Careful, I’ll put you out of business that way,” Serge laughs. “Thanks, man.”
We walk off, inhaling the tacos, and I don’t say anything, just waiting for the side of that story I missed. But Serge doesn’t seem to notice. He’s just enjoying his tacos, enjoying the early evening on the street, watching people.
“So… What was all that?” I finally ask, the curiosity burning too bright to ignore.
Serge’s brows go up, like he’s surprised I’m still there, but then he looks down at me, back to the truck, and shrugs.
“Ricky used to come to the center. Good kid, but he was having a lot of problems. A gang was trying to initiate him and I could tell he didn’t really want to be a part of that, so I encouraged him to come help me whenever he wanted somewhere safe to go. Sometimes I walked home with him. I got to know his family pretty well. He’s at Cal State LA, and apparently doing pretty well these days.”
“Wow,” I say, looking down at what’s left of my tacos without much of an appetite.
When was the last time I made an impact like that on someone’s life? When was the last time I did something so unselfish? I swallow the sour taste in my mouth and hold up my unfinished taco to Serge.
“You don’t want it?”
“I’m full.”
He gives me a look like I’m crazy, but shrugs and takes it, inhaling it in two bites.
“What?” he asks, after we walk around aimlessly in silence for another few minutes.
“What, what?”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
I shrug. “I’m not.”
“You are,” he insists. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“Maybe that’s just my face,” I say, trying out mock offense.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not. I know your face. Your face is…”
I lift my eyebrows, but he scowls.
“It’s not like that. So what?”
I sigh, throwing up my arms. “I don’t know. You’re just like… this super good guy and it’s not at all what I thought I’d find?”
It starts out as a low rumble in his chest, but then it turns into full-on laughter.
“What?” I growl, sure that he’s laughing at me. I don’t appreciate being the butt of a joke.
“I am not a good guy, Tori. I’m a really bad guy that’s trying to make up for some of the shit he’s done.”
I give him a dubious look. I know he had trouble with addiction. I know he nearly died. But I find it hard to picture Serge fucking anyone over or really being an asshole. It just doesn’t seem like him.
“Trust me,” he says, his voice going low and rough, “if you knew the kinds of thoughts I had, you’d know I’m not such a nice guy.”
“Thoughts like what?” I ask, nearly breathless. We’re still on the sidewalk together, but the way we’re stopped, the way he’s looking at me, I’ve got my back to the wall and he’s just pressing in closer, making my heart beat faster, my breaths coming shallow and quick, my skin hot and needy.
I’m just hoping the thoughts he’s been having are the same I’ve been having. Thoughts that are a continuation of our kiss and the way it made my entire body molten.
Serge steps forward, his hips pressed against mine, and he grinds forward, letting me feel every inch of how much he wants me. Even through the layers of clothes between us, his cock rubs between my legs in a way that makes my breath catch, and I reach out for him, clutching at his shoulder to keep him right there.
“That’s not a thought,” I say softly, my eyes hooded as I look up at him, licking my lips.
He moves his hips again and I gasp, my eyes fluttering, my heart racing. “Close enough,” he says, kissing me hard and rough, pinning me to the wall with his hips, my pussy throbbing with his erection pressed right against me. If we weren’t in the middle of the street, I’d be asking him to fuck me right here. Begging him.
He pulls back, his eyes blazing fire into mine, one thought and one thought alone written into every one of his features.
“My place isn’t far,” I say before I can think better of it.
His eyes darken, narrow a bit, but his hand on my hip tightens and he growls before kissing me fiercely again, leaving me dizzy and breathless.
“Come on,” I say, breaking away, my whole head spinning. If he’s not careful, I’m going to be grinding against him like a drunk prom queen soon. “At least behind a closed door.”
He grumbles something and I can tell he’s not happy about being cut off, but I know it’s for the best.
Of course, my place is further away than I thought. It takes us nearly twenty minutes to get there. It probably could’ve been less if we weren’t stopping every couple of blocks to paw at each other like horny teenagers.
“We’re close,” I say, spotting my building in the distance. Serge’s hand goes up my shirt, his thumb dragging over my nipple through my bra. I arch into him, the simple touch like lightning to my core, and he chuckles darkly.
“Yeah, we are.”
“Shut up,” I laugh, smac
king his arm.
I drag him to my building, up the stairs, to my door where I fumble with the keys because he’s behind me with his hands up my shirt, cupping my breasts, and then we’re inside.
“Home sweet home,” I say, flipping on a light and closing the door behind him.
My place isn’t much. I’ve had a fair bit of success in my career, but I’m not really in town often enough to enjoy the place, so I never put much effort into decorating it. And it’s kind of a mess, too. Clothes and empty bottles scattered around. I haven’t really cleaned in ages and now, looking at it through Serge’s eyes, I’m embarrassed.
Without saying anything, I start cleaning up, picking up clothes first, hoping to prevent him from tripping over my panties or something, and then going around the room with a trash bag, cleaning up take-out boxes and months-old booze bottles.
“Sorry… Wasn’t exactly expecting company,” I say, the bag in my hand clinking as I flit around the room.
Serge is unbothered; he just sits on a free space on my couch and stretches one arm along the back, his legs wide, his posture slouched. How he manages to look so sexy and casual at the same time, I’ll never understand.
“I used to hang out with junkies, Tori. I’ve seen way worse, I promise. You don’t have needles lying around, or a half-burned mattress propped up to cover the windows.”
I look around and shove the bag of trash into my kitchen, feeling foolish again.
What is wrong with me? Before we got up here, I was ready to jump his bones in the street. But now I’m suddenly nervous, shy, unsure about what move I should take next and it’s not like me and it’s freaking me out.
Meanwhile, Serge is just looking at me, his eyes clearly seeing way more than I want them to.
“What’s up?” he asks, looking concerned. Before I can stop them, my eyes flick down to his crotch, but I flick them back up before he notices, I think.
“Nothing,” I say, heading to the fridge, looking for a drink, but of course I don’t have any.
“Come here,” he says, patting the couch next to me. It’s not a command, but my feet move like it is, and before I know it, I’m sitting on the couch next to him, hands between my clenched knees like some prim little schoolgirl.
“No, here,” he says, his arm sliding from the back of the couch to fit around my shoulders, pulling me into him. I don’t resist. I’m curled up against his side, my ear pressed against his chest, just listening to the steady rise and fall of his breath.
“There,” he says, the word vibrating through his chest.
I sigh. It feels so nice to be here with him, like this, his touch comforting me. But I know it’s not that simple. I know I haven’t told him everything and he deserves to know. I know that’s what’s holding me up, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself.
“So?”
I sigh again. “I’m not just volunteering at the community center, you know.”
“I know,” he says, his voice soft and non-judgmental. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve that.
“It’s court-ordered,” I say.
He nods.
“I know that, too.”
I pull back, ice in my throat. “Do you already know everything?”
He looks offended, a hint of a scowl in his brows. “No. I didn’t Google you or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I sigh, the ice melting, relief washing through me. I don’t know why, because I’m about to tell him everything, I just want it to be on my own terms. I don’t want him to find out through TMZ or some shit.
“Right. Well, I made some really dumb choices and wound up with a DUI and the judge decided community service could work for me…”
“Weird. They don’t normally have more than a slap on the wrist for first-time offenders.”
I sigh again, a heaviness in my chest. “Yeah… Well… If I was, maybe that’s what would’ve happened. But my record label freaked out and put me on suspension until this is all over with, so I’ve just gotta keep my nose clean ‘til then.”
Serge nods, thoughtful. “It’s as good a time as any to give sobriety a shot. It’s hard, but it’s worth it,” he says.
I pull back from him, crossing my arms in front of me, my legs under me. “I’m not an alcoholic,” I say. “I just had a bad night. The guy I was seeing was fucking some other girl at this party we were at and I just needed to get out of there.”
He nods. “Well, I’m glad you realize it was a mistake.”
“I’m not a fucking alcoholic, Serge. I’m in a band, we party a little hard sometimes, you know what that’s like. Other people don’t get that. They don’t know what our lifestyle is like.”
He’s quiet, his lips pressed together, not saying anything. Which says plenty really. He’s just like the others. I thought Serge of all people would understand, but he just sees another famous person with a problem. Another drunk in denial.
“I’m in no place to judge,” he finally says, his voice soft and warm. And I can’t keep being mad at him when his voice is bringing back memories of what we were up to down on the street. When his voice fills me with a warm trickle of goodness that just makes me want more.
I swallow, letting my arms drop.
“Sorry I got a little worked up there.”
He shrugs. “I know what it’s like.”
“Let’s not think about that stuff right now,” I say, crawling towards him on my hands and knees across the couch.
“Works for me,” he growls, grabbing me around the waist. I yelp as he swings me around, settling me in his lap, his hard cock already throbbing against me, my thighs straddling his waist, positioning him in just the right place. His hands drag up my sides, shivers and goosebumps following the trail of his fingers as he lifts my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside.
The rush of cold air on my skin makes me shiver, but then I claw his shirt off and we’re skin-to-skin, his hot body warming me all the way to my very center.
Serge’s roughened thumbs drag over my nipples, each circle he draws sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my clit. I grind into him and his hips rise up to meet me, but we’re both still clothed from the waist down and it’s not enough.
He dips his head and sucks a nipple between his lips, his tongue flicking back and forth, back and forth. I toss my head back on a groan, my clit pulsing in time with his tongue like he’s licking it, back and forth, my breath turning to gasping pants, back and forth, my thighs clenching him tighter, back and forth, he bites down and I cry out, arching into him as he chuckles at me.
“Fuck you,” I growl, reaching between us for his zipper.
“Such a dirty mouth,” he teases, biting gently at my other nipple.
I moan again, my thighs trembling from the electric effect he’s having on me.
“If you don’t get these fucking pants off, it’s going to get dirtier,” I grumble, trying to work his jeans down his hips while I’m straddling him. It doesn’t really work. Serge chuckles at me again, and I’d be annoyed by how much he’s laughing at me, except every time he does it, the vibrations go through his whole body, all the way down to his cock, and the way it just brushes against me, teasing me when he laughs has me too lost for words to say anything. My whole mind is occupied with the need to get my hand around his cock. To see him, to feel him, to have him buried inside of me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about pretty much since I laid eyes on him and now that we’re this close, I can’t let it slip through my fingers again.
His hands go under my ass and drag me even closer, leaving me gasping as he stands. My legs instinctively go around his waist and he carries me through to my bedroom, his big muscular drummer’s arms flexing and bulging as he effortlessly carries me. My fingers move of their own accord, fondling the curvature of his muscles, swirling over the lines of tattoo ink covering almost every bare inch of skin.
“Strip,” he says, tossing me on the bed. I’m not normally one to take orders, but I’m not goin
g to argue with him. Without thinking I’m shoving my jeans down, my panties going with them, reaching for him at the same time I’m trying to get the damn skinny leg jeans off my ankles.
Serge pulls them off me with one quick move and then he’s moving over me, tearing my bra off too. I think it might actually have ripped from the sound it makes, but I don’t even care because he’s naked and I’m naked and his glorious cock is bobbing between us, big and hard and thick. I moan, licking my lips, reaching for him.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but my hand doesn’t even fit all the way around him, my fingers not even touching as I try to encircle his girth. I stroke him once, from root to tip, and watch how he twitches in my hand, a couple of drops of his milky precum dribbling out, making my hand sticky. I can’t help myself. I lean forward and lick the tip.
Serge’s whole body goes rigid and I’m pretty sure he’s holding his breath with my lips just touching the tip of his cock. I grin, the feeling of power way too good. I suck the whole head of his cock into my mouth and Serge roars, his fingers thrusting into my hair, taking fistfuls of it roughly as he moves me up and down his shaft, fucking my mouth.
I’m not in control anymore so I just try to move my tongue in the ways that make him make those sounds I love, a free hand cupping his balls, enjoying the heavy weight of them in my palm as they tighten in time with his fingers in my hair. There are tears in my eyes from his roughness, but I kind of love it. It’s hot. The way he takes control and just fucks my mouth. The way he’s tugging on my hair almost hurts, but with every tug, a jolt of pure want pulses in my pussy, making me wetter, needier. The salty taste of him only amplifies it, and I hollow my cheeks, wanting to taste all of him, to feel him explode in my mouth.
