by Caisey Quinn
I glare at her steadily until she finishes her statement.
“Sometimes even things done with the best of intentions can wound and destroy. Sometimes the darkness wins. That’s all I’m saying. I just worry is all.” She shrugs almost imperceptibly and then adds, “We’ll leave you be, but call us if you need us, okay?”
I nod and with that she leaves my room and closes the door behind her.
Now I’m the one left in darkness.
I wake to loud knocking on my front door. Sitting up in my bed, I glance over at my phone and see that it’s after two in the morning.
Something’s wrong.
I don’t know how I know, but I know it even before I’m fully conscious. Stumbling to the door, I mutter inaudibly to my late-night visitor to hold the hell on. I’ve barely registered the figure standing in the door way before I open it.
His scorching hot mouth fastens to mine. It’s a kiss and then a lick and then a hard pull of my flesh into his mouth. It’s a familiar mouth, one that affects even more parts of my body than he’s actually touching.
Before I can say a word or mutter in either protest or approval, his hands grip my ass and I am lifted onto him. My legs instinctually wrap his waist and the burning kiss continues as he carries me to my bedroom. It’s dark in the house so he’s making his way through by memory.
Heat sears my back—hot enough that I’m slightly concerned my mattress is on fire when he lowers me roughly onto it.
Is this a dream? Am I awake?
Using both hands, I reach for his face and drag his mouth to mine. Immediately I know that I am not dreaming. The Gavin in my dreams tastes only like Gavin, like mint and sometimes a faint hint of tobacco even though he quit smoking. This Gavin tastes different.
The liquor on his breath is so strong I’m instantly drunk at the first touch of our tongues.
It’s an addicting flavor, Gavin and stout whiskey.
He tears his shirt off over his head and my brain tries to warn me, to remind me about something. I’m mad at him. Or I’m supposed to be mad. Or . . . something. But there is only heat and need and skin.
So much skin.
I fell asleep in my threadbare Civil Wars T-shirt and he’s wearing only jeans that scrape roughly against my exposed skin.
His strong hand assaults my bare breasts. One, then the other. Rubbing hard then tugging gently on each nipple until the ache in them rivals the one between my legs.
I want him to keep touching me, to taste me, to be as consumed with his need for me as I am by mine for him.
He growls low in my ear. “I need you so fucking bad. I shouldn’t have you. I don’t deserve you, but I need you. Can I have you?”
“Yes, Gavin. God, yes. You have me. I need you too. I—”
He cuts me off with a kiss that plunges into the depths of my mouth, leaving no inch unexplored. I moan loudly, thankful for once that the house is empty.
I feel his hard denim-covered length press between my legs and writhe beneath him.
“Gav. I need. I need . . .” I can’t breathe. All I am is need.
“I know what you need, sweetness. I have every intention of giving it to you.”
“Yes, please,” I plead shamelessly.
Liquid heat pools where I need him most and I thrust myself harder against his jeans.
“Not yet, my impatient girl. I’m going to take my time with you.” Without waiting for permission or a response, he moves swiftly down my body and delves his thick, wet tongue between my already slick folds. My body bows up off the bed and I cry out as pleasure tears through my body.
My legs spread farther apart, granting him access to every inch of me. His tongue wrecks me, circling slow then fast, then plunging inside. I’m begging for mercy, for release, for something. I can hear myself but I can’t control anything coming out of my mouth.
“Fuck me, Gav,” I beg. “Please. Pretty please.”
“So fucking sweet. You’re so fucking sweet, baby. You shouldn’t be allowed to taste so sweet. I have issues with addiction, you know, and I. Am. Fucking. Addicted.”
“Please,” I cry out when I feel myself ascending to that place, to that pleasure-to-the-point-of-pain peak where only he can take me. “Now, please. Please.”
“You know me, sweetness. I’m going to fuck you all night. I’m going to take you there as many times as you want to go. I want you to come on my tongue, on my cock, and everywhere in between. Ready?”
I want his tongue back inside me. Or his dick inside me. Both. All at once. I want him to keep his mouth there until his dick can immediately replace it. I need the contact. I need it to never stop.
Tension strings me tight and I’m throbbing so hard I assume he can feel it.
Something unintelligible slips out of my mouth, a plea and a whimpered moan combined.
Gavin sucks my clit into his mouth at the exact instant that two of his thick fingers fill me completely.
“Oh my God.” It’s a good feeling but a full, stretched to maximum capacity feeling. I haven’t had sex since . . . since after my grandpa died.
The last time I did was here. In this bed with Gavin.
Maybe that’s the real reason I can’t leave this room, this bed.
He alternates gentle thrusts with hard sucks and vice versa and I am coming.
And coming, and coming.
His name slips past my lips with a slew of other words of adulation.
He licks me down from my orgasm, easing his fingers out of me in a torturously slow motion.
“See how good you taste, baby? He runs his wet fingers across my lips, then kisses me hard. “I could live on this. On you and only you.”
For all the havoc he’s wreaked on my body, my heart pounds at his words, at the taste of myself on his mouth, and I feel my insides begin to clench rhythmically once again.
I didn’t know pleasure like this even existed. He didn’t fuck me like this in Austin or here. Austin was slow and we took our time. Last time we were here it was about comfort.
This is about primal need and hedonistic desire. It’s all-consuming and mind-shattering.
“More, Gavin. Please. I need more.”
“Your wish is my command, Blu—babe.”
The fuck?
“Why didn’t you call—”
His mouth covers mine aggressively while he yanks his jeans and underwear off. I hear them hit the floor and my hands reach down instinctively to stroke his length.
He’s smooth and hard and perfect.
“Inside. I need you inside,” I mumble against his mouth. His kiss has turned punishing and it’s confusing but I’m tough. I can deal. I give as good as I get until teeth gnash together and I’m sure both of our mouths will be sore and bruised in the morning.
“It’s not going to be sweet. Or soft or slow. I am going to fuck you. I need to fuck you. Hard. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, Gavin. I can handle it. I want it.” I spread my legs as far as they will go and grip his bare ass with both hands.
“Fuck.” He tries to rear back but I need him now.
“Condom?”
“I don’t have one. I haven’t been having sex. With anyone since . . .”
“Since?”
“Since you. Since last time I was with you.”
I can’t help but doubt him. We’ve spent a lot of time apart and I’ve never known him to deny himself.
“Swear?”
“I swear. On anything you want.”
“Swear on me. Cross my heart.”
He leans down and places warm, wet kisses across my chest in the shape of a cross, stopping centimeters shy of my nipples. I reach for them to ease the ache but he grips my wrists and pins my hands above me.
“We don’t have to fuck. I can just get you off all night. I’m good with that.” His head dips again and his tongue runs languid circles around my areola until I cry out and he sucks my nipples hard enough to hurt. It’s a good pain, though; he walks that line betw
een pleasure and pain perfectly.
“Come inside me, Gavin. I want you inside of me.”
He groans as if I’ve stabbed him.
“Please. I want to feel you. Just you. Only you. I take my birth control regularly. Never miss a dose. Robyn texts me every day to remind me.”
Any other argument I was going to make or any defense he planned to counter with is null and void the second the head of him breaches my folds. I’m so wet from his mouth that he slides in easily, like a hot knife into butter.
The moment he is fully inside, I lose myself. My body begins to buck against his but I can’t get far because he’s still holding my wrists.
Once again I hear myself begging him for more as our bodies create the delicious sweaty friction I crave. He gives it, thrusting everything he has into me again and again.
“Come. Fucking come, babe. I need it. Now.”
His plea is so desperate, I clench around him until my body complies with his request.
“Fuck,” Gavin bites out when he slams into me and comes explosively inside. “Fucking fuck.”
He releases my wrists and collapses on me and all we do is breathe.
Just breath and sweat and remnants of pleasure between us.
Just when I think he’s dozed off, he jerks up quickly and grabs the tops of my legs.
“Turn over.”
“What? You’re not serious.” I can barely move, much less turn over.
“Turn,” he says slowly, like I’m mentally impaired. “The fuck,” he punctuates by yanking me roughly toward him. “Over.”
“Gavin.” I don’t know this version of him. “Look at me, please.” I’m not prepared for it. I thought it was lie-around-in-post-orgasmic-bliss time.
He looks but his eyes are flat black in the darkness, as if he’s figured out how to look without seeing. “Each second you make me wait, I will spank you. Hard. Do you want that, baby? My handprint branded on that sweet, perfect ass of yours?”
Um . . . maybe?
My vagina is on board even if I’m still swimming in confusion.
“Do you want to spank me, Gavin?”
“Fuck, yes, I do. I want to spank that tight little ass, to bite it and mark it, and when you let me fuck it, I plan to sign my name on it.”
And just like that, I’m on board.
“Okay. Let’s do this. Fucking spank me then. Show me how you like it.” I turn over abruptly and try not to be self-conscious about presenting him with this view of my backside. Seems silly to be embarrassed now.
“Ready, baby? You get two for making me ask you twice to turn over.”
“Do your worst, drummer boy.” It hits me a second too late that Gavin is, in fact, a very strong, very powerful drummer.
I flinch involuntarily when his hand makes the first crack of contact.
“Oh. Okay. Ouch. That fucking hurt.”
He rubs me gently until the stinging subsides. Then he trails his fingers down the middle of me and dips it briefly into my opening. I am amazingly still extremely wet. And turned the hell on.
“One more, sweetness. Can you take one more?”
“Um, yeah. Just maybe not as—”
His open palm makes contact again and it’s just low enough to send a shock wave through to my clit.
I cry out and Gavin begins whispering soothing things as he moves. I start to ask where he’s going but before I do I have my answer.
His mouth launches a thorough assault on the parts of me that are exposed to him in this position. All of the parts. Even the ones I didn’t expect would feel good.
Soon I am adrift in the overwhelming sensations and I’m not even sure which are fingers and which is tongue until I’m coming again and mid-orgasm his cock slams inside to the hilt. And I am coming again. Or maybe it’s more of the first one continued, stretching out long and thick like never-ending taffy. All I know is I can’t stop it—this, whatever this is.
He wraps my hair around his hand and jerks hard enough to hurt but I’m coming so hard I can’t bring myself to care.
“Gav. Gavin. Fuuuck.”
He’s pounding me now, a steady slamming of his cock into my body until my bones are rattling.
“Where do you want my come, sweetness? Three choices,” he grounds out through gritted teeth. “Pussy, throat, or inside that tight little ass of yours?”
I don’t know. I can’t think. I’m growing numb and disoriented from the brutality of how hard he’s still fucking me.
“W-where do you want to come?” Even my teeth are rattling. He is literally fucking every part of me.
“Everywhere. Your mouth, down your throat, all over your sweet little clit, across those perfect fucking tits. I dream about fucking your ass, about making it impossible for you to sit down for a week.”
I am speechless.
“Do you get it, now, baby?” He jerks my head backward by my hair until I’m upright and surprisingly his dick is still buried safely inside of me. “This is how I am. Fucked-up. Rough. Dangerous. This is how I fuck. That shit in Austin, and the pity fuck here a few months ago, that wasn’t me. This is me.”
Nothing hits me quite as hard as those two words.
Pity. Fuck.
I cannot have heard that right.
But I can smell his breath again from here and I know he’s drunk. Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s shitfaced because the Gavin I know would never handle me this way or speak to me like this. I’m not complaining, it’s kind of hot. But not if he’s angry and not if he’s too drunk to use sense.
“Fucking come, Gavin. Get it over with and get the hell away from me before you say something else you’re going to regret.”
A strange manic sound escapes him. He thrusts in hard and deep and holds me there, tethered by my hair, impaled by his cock. “That’s the worst part. I have no remorse, baby. Ever.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss out because I don’t like this anymore. It’s not fun and it feels malicious and hateful. And wrong. “Actually, I’m done fucking you right now. Thank you.”
I slam my elbow backward, catching him in the rib cage and startling him enough that he lets go of me.
As soon as I’m free I run into the bathroom and shut the door hard behind me before sinking onto the cold, tile floor with my sore, bare ass. It actually helps a little.
I don’t know what just happened, or why he behaved that way, but I know now that Robyn is right.
Gavin is fighting his own battle. He has darkness inside him and it is capable of destroying me.
It just did.
14 | Gavin
SHE’S IN THE bathroom. Locked on the other side of a barrier I’m more familiar with than most.
If there is anything lower than scum, like scum that grows on scum, that’s me right now.
It wasn’t supposed to go there, to get like that.
“Mommy? Please come out now. I’m hungry . . .”
Where the fuck did that come from?
“Dixie,” I call out over the uninvited sound of my warped childhood. “Baby, I’m sorry. Please . . . I can explain . . .”
Can’t I? I don’t even know anymore. All I know is I can’t leave like this—having done what I did, hurting her that way.
I lean forward until my forehead touches the door.
“I’m so sorry, Bluebird. I lost myself but that’s no excuse.” And I’m hammered as hell but that’s no excuse, either. The hall spins around me and I am grounded only by my forehead pressed to the wood.
“Please come out, Mommy. I’m scared. Someone is knocking on the door.”
Memories I thought I’d effectively smothered years ago attempt to break through the surface. My mom had a habit of running to the bathroom—sick, high, or to elude the local dealers, she’d run in there and hide—leaving me locked out on the other side. Alone, helpless, starving. Scared for countless reasons. Some nights I slept outside the bathroom door. Many nights.
My own heartbeat throbs inside my skull.
&nbs
p; “Dixie, please.” I hear my voice crack and I let my fist bang lightly against the door. “Please don’t shut me out, baby. I am so, so damn sorry. Please. At least let me see that you’re okay and then I’ll go. I promise.”
I fucked her dirty and I was an absolute dick about it. It wasn’t necessary. To take it that far. But I was blind drunk and I lost myself.
I remember seeing her there in the doorway, angelic and innocent with her hair flowing all around her, and me thinking This is how it has to end. She’s too good for me and I have to make her see that.
That was the last rational thought I had. She was warm and soft and wet. The scent of her, the unique salty sweetness that flavors her skin and deepens intoxicatingly between her legs, it overtook me and I was so far gone I couldn’t see my way out.
“Get dressed, Gavin,” I hear her say quietly. “And I’ll let you in on one condition.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Got it. Getting dressed right now.”
The entire time I’m putting my clothes on I’m praying the second part of her condition isn’t “get the hell out.”
I don’t know if she’s scared or just royally pissed-off, but I need to know. I was aiming for the second one but I never meant to make her afraid or actually hurt her.
I pull my clothes on slowly and try to blank it out. I can’t. I’ll never be able to no matter how hard I try.
I told myself I’d just pretend she was one of the others, the ones I used to use as if they were disposable. I tried. I tried that but it was so . . . wrong. The girls I used to fuck liked it that way; they asked for it that way and there was a mutual understanding beforehand. Doing that to Dixie, to my Bluebird, to the girl I would cut my fucking eyeballs out not to hurt, will forever be the worst thing I’ve ever done and I’ve done some messed-up shit.
God have mercy on my black soul, I am a fucking disgusting human being. But there it is. I have mommy issues like a motherfucker. Well, wait. No. Gross.
Fuck.
But my mom never hugged me, never wrapped her arm around me or patted me or kissed me. She never showed me any physical affection because she was always high and in her own universe. I didn’t even know I needed it until the eighth-grade field trip to an art museum downtown where Lindy Preston sucked me off in the boys’ bathroom.
