Bed was a welcome relief. She dove headfirst into sleep like a woman seeking a cleansing baptism of unconsciousness. In her dreams her parents were chasing her, Nick’s doctor…Ben—all judging her. She ran and she ran and she ran…right into two big burly arms.
Sincere blue eyes and a crooked smile and a soft, “Hey there, boss lady.” Chapter Eleven
The doorbell rang.
Luna sat back on her haunches. Baking soda was caked to her elbows, her hair was up in a kerchief a la Rosie the Riveter. She was scrubbing the hell out of her shower—she only used natural cleaning products after research into various environmental hazards for kids. All kids, not just kids with neurological issues.
“Who is—“
The doorbell rang again, and again, and again. Bing-BONG Bing-BONG Bing-BONG!
In rapid succession. Only one person did that.
She dropped the scrubber in the pasty white mess and wiped her hands on a damp towel.
Then she beat feet to the front door before Savannah started another aural assault.
She started, a single bing and a single BONG and Luna yanked the door open. “My God, woman! What is it?”
“Well hello…um…who are you supposed to be,” Savannah snickered, stepping into the air conditioning. The air outside was typical summer in Baltimore. Humid, disgusting, hot. Like wrapping yourself in wet cotton batting and climbing into an oven.
“I am supposed to be a woman who has the day off, and is cleaning her home,” Luna said.
“And what is…this?” Savannah touched the dried out crusty shell of baking soda.
“Cleaning supplies.”
“Baking soda?”
“You know it.”
It was late afternoon. About five. And the plan had been to clean the bathroom, shower, grill some shrimp and drink some chilled wine, and maybe watch a movie. Be a normal calm human being for an evening.
“Well, put down your scrubber, Cinderella and put on your ball gown. We’re going out.”
“Oh, no we’re not.”
“Yes we are,” Savannah said, tugging her along. “We can go to the Shore House and have some beers, a grilled chicken barbeque sandwich—“ Luna’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Between unmanageable fucking-a-new-guy nerves and anxiety studded worrying-about-teenage-son issues and guilt for having dodged her dad, she wasn’t very hungry.
“See, you’re starved.”
She wasn’t going to win this. “I don’t want to.” It was a lie.
“Come on! We won’t even be out late. We’ll eat on the deck and watch the water. We’ll have a few drinks, we’ll chat, we’ll boogie and then you’ll be home in time to skite Nick.”
“Skype,” she said, laughing. “Why can’t anyone get that right?”
“That thing. Now hurry! Before you turn into a pumpkin. I’ll pour us a pre-beverage beverage. You shower.” Without waiting for any agreement or argument, Savannah headed to the pantry for a bottle of wine. This was her second home and she was going to do what she was going to do and leave Luna to obey her.
“Fine,” Luna sighed, watching her friend’s trim back as she walked out of the room, dismissing her. “No one’s listening to me anyway!” Inside she wondered if this might actually be good for her. A night out. No kid, no man, just her best friend, some good food and a few cocktails. Stranger things had happened.
She had to hose down the white dried past of baking soda before she could shower, and by then the water had gone a bit cold. But that was fine. The temperature and steam outside seemed to infiltrate her when she was like this—emotional—and it was easy to feel sticky and gross despite her cool house. She climbed into the tepid water and started to wash her face. The bathroom door squeaked, and she heard Savannah settle down on the lid of the wooden toilet seat. The toilet sat in a small alcove next to the shower. Savannah couldn’t see the shower door or Luna, but they could hear each other.
“So…” Savannah said, and then snickered.
Luna rolled her eyes, and smeared a load of conditioner in her hair to get out the tangles she’d accumulated working out and cleaning and being slovenly all day. “So what, Miss Subtle?”
“Did he come home with you?”
“Who?” Best to play dumb.
Savannah snorted and Luna imagined her shaking her head as if in shock. “Adam! Did he come home with you?”
“No,” Luna said. It wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t come home with her, he’d followed her home.
An entirely different scenario.
“Lies!”
“He followed me here,” she finally caved.
“Ah ha!”
“Ah ha, what? I just told you.”
“Whatever,” Savannah said. “Is he good?”
“Dear God, Savannah. That is not a question you ask.”
“Oh yes, it is,” Savannah chirped. “See, I’ll ask it again. Is he good?” Luna chewed her lip and finally said, “Yes. He’s good.”
“Oh, I knew you two would be per—“
“Oh no! Not perfect. No perfect. Don’t even go there. It is just sex. An outlet. We both have a lot going on,” she explained, soaping and then shaving her legs. “And we need…a release. We have chemistry, I’ll give you that. But only in the bedroom. I have zero—“
“Yar, yar, yar. You have zero interest in a relationship.” Luna nodded, ignoring the empty pit feeling in her stomach. “And neither does he,” she finished.
“Fine, fine. Whatever. I’m going to go find a snack. Hurry up! I’m starving.” Luna heard the door swing open and then shut. “She gave up awful fast.”
* * * * *
“You’re really not going to tell me?” Savannah licked the rim of her peach daiquiri to get the raw sugar off.
“Nope.”
“Why!?”
“Because…it seems weird, I guess. I don’t know. You just got laid, why is it so important that I tell you?”
Savannah shrugged and studied the crowd. Their waitress was making her way toward the table bearing their food and Savannah got so excited she literally clapped. The woman was as thin as a rail and ate like a lumberjack. Insanity.
“Two Shore House chicken barbeque sandwiches,” the waitress said. “Extra sauce for you,” she said to Luna. “More drinks?”
“Yes,” Savannah said.
“No,” Luna said in unison.
“Which is it?” their waitress Tia, asked.
“Yes,” Savannah said, pointing a silencing finger at Luna. “Just one more each, please.” Luna sighed but didn’t really mean it. She could feel the buzz of their girly drinks and the hunger in her stirring to life. She truly was ready for this sandwich. It was one of her guilty pleasures. A barbeque grilled chicken breast, with cheese, on a steamed white bun, with mayo and pickles. To. Die. For.
“You need to have fun. When did you become so uptight and sad?” The bite in her mouth turned to sawdust and Luna stared up into Savannah’s usually happy face. “Am I sad?”
Savannah looked down and away and cleared her throat. “Hon, you do seem sad. And uptight. And…not yourself. I just want you to be happy, even if it’s for a night. And if the sex made you happy I want to know. I just want to…” Savannah waved her slender hands around looking like she might cry. “Help. I only want to help. I love you, Luna.” Well, damn. Now she was going to cry.
“Fuck,” Luna sighed and swallowed hard to force her food where it belonged. “I had no idea.”
“Talk to me,” Savannah said.
So Luna did. Staring with what her father had implied and how it had broken her heart.
She got it all out and Savannah patted her hand as if they were two old women commiserated over tea. After a few more bites of sandwich and fries, as Savannah tried to talk her spirits up, Luna abandoned her dinner, her appetite waning. But her daiquiri was good and she took a few frosty swigs.
“You know what will help this problem?” Savannah asked.
“Sex?” Luna laughed.
“Is that what you’re going to say?”
“Well, that does help everything, but it’s not what I meant.” The DJ had arrived and the groovy strains of Brick House started to pump across the dance floor that was located between the casual dining area on the deck and the bar proper.
Uh-oh.
“What did you mean?” Luna sighed, taking the bait.
“Dancing, dahlink!” Savannah said and grabbed her hand. She pulled her out onto the dance floor and despite dragging her feet, Luna laughed. And yes, she even felt the urge to bust a move to some 70’s funk.
This would loosen her up. Some drinks, some dancing, acting stupid, hanging with her best friend who understood her and loved her and wanted to help.
“I think handsome’s checking you out.” Savannah was shouting, but no one would hear her over the music.
Luna glanced to see a very tall, very dark, black man with whiskey colored eyes watching her dance. “He’s probably thinking, my God that woman is awful.”
“I think he’s thinking, my God look at that fine ass,” Savannah snickered, her mouth right up against Luna’s ear so she could hear.
Luna shrugged it off and continued to dance. She wasn’t interested. In anyone. And as for fuck buddies, she already had one in Adam. Upping that to grow a collection was a bad idea. She already harbored possibly irrational, but very real, guilt over sleeping with Ben the way she had.
Though he’d been a willing participant—that was irrelevant. “No thanks.” The man—a very handsome, very tall drink of water—danced over their way. He looked a bit shy but sincere and even nice. So when he said, “Care to dance?” Then flashed her a supremely tantalizing white smile it killed her to say, “No thanks. I’m…involved with someone,” she lied to save his feelings.
He winked at her, put his hands up as if under arrest and said, “Understood. It’s a shame though.” And off he danced, back to his friends who couldn’t wait to razz him for being shot down.
“You are insane,” Savannah said when the song wound down and the next one came on.
This time Oh What a Night.
“Nope. Just thirsty. Want a water?” What Luna really needed was a breather. A moment to settle her nerves and regain her focus.
“Nah. I’m going to go ask tall, dark and groovy if he wants to dance with me. If that’s okay,” Savannah added, looking worried.
“Go for it,” Luna said. She grabbed her friend and kissed her cheek. “And thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not trading me in for a non-sucky friend.” Then she hurried off to the bar to ask for an ice water.
The bar wasn’t busy yet. It was still early. Only one guy was working and he was at the other end. Luna let herself study him for a minute. Big guy. Nice ass in black jeans and a white tee that advertised the Shore House. He was refilling the ice tubs. There were only two patrons at the bar, both with full drinks, both watching the Orioles play on the big screen.
“Hello?” she called.
He couldn’t hear her over the cascade of ice. There was no indication he knew she was there. She tried again and when he didn’t turn, she gave up. She’d simply go to him. At the other end of the bar she said, “Hey, hi, hello. Can I bother you for an ice w—“ But that was as far as she got because the man lifted his head and she was staring into some seriously dark blue denim colored eyes. With a green ring. And then he smiled and her insides turned to molten goodness. Not even ice water could help her now.
Chapter Twelve
“You!” she said.
“You,” he returned with a half smile.
“You work here, too?”
That made him frown. Even above the pounding music, she was almost sure she could hear the sound of his annoyance—a scratching fingernail on a chalkboard sound.
“I do. Is that okay?”
She shook her head. “Good Lord, yes, of course it is. I was just surprised is all. Water?”
“What?”
“Water, can I have some?”
Why was he so angry that she knew he worked at the Shore House? She watched him move around to fill her non-order. His movements as economical and easy as always. This must be what it was like to work in construction. Every movement had a purpose, every motion was part of the grand scheme.
“One water,” he said, putting it on the bar a little too gently, which meant he wanted to slam it down. It even had a nice, bright, yellow slice of lemon in it.
“Thanks. I’m so thirsty. Too much booze, too little food and then 70’s funk.” As she drank, the memory of them the night before—naked and grappling and….coming—rose unbidden in her mind and she blushed. Luna dug in her pocket for a tip and he waved his hand.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “It’s water.” That pissed her off. Another guy had come behind the bar with a tray of glasses and was sliding them one at a time into the overhead rack. She leaned in so he wouldn’t hear. “What is your problem?”
Out on the dance floor people whoo-whoo-ed because the DJ had queued up The Loco Motion. Everyone was laughing, Savannah was boogying with that fine tall man. But Luna felt hot and cold and angry all over.
“What’s your problem? You don’t tip on water, boss lady.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
He planted his hands on the bar, and she realized again how fucking big they were. And realizing that, it was easy to remember those hands on her… in her. Steadying and gripping and pleasuring her. Her breath was a wisp of its former self in her throat, her heart a runaway drum beat.
“What’s wrong? You liked it last night.”
“Jerk,” she spat. “Just because you lost a partner or a fuck buddy or whatever—“ He snagged her wrist and squeezed it almost too hard, but not quite. Then he was tugging her, shocking her into silence. Stepping through the small break in the bar, he pulled her along, calling, “Cole, think you can hold down this huge crowd at the bar for a bit?” Cole nodded, laughed because there were only two people at the bar and gave him a wave.
“Let go of me,” she breathed, trying not to make a scene.
“Shut up.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up!”
He made a quick left, holding her tightly so she had no choice but to follow. They passed two more people who gave them brief glances but said nothing. Luna couldn’t see Adam’s face, but she could see the tension in his tone body, and an alarm sounded deep in her body. She’d said the wrong thing. She could feel it as surely as the goose bumps that were blooming on her skin.
“Adam!” she gasped. But he just kept going. Opening a silver door and then pulling it shut behind them. The walk-in. And God help her, it thunked heavily when it closed, like a tomb door. What the fuck? He locked it, turning to her fast. His face was still angry. His shoulders hunched with tension.
“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, Luna,” he said.
For some reason, the use of her actual name hurt her feelings. They’d had their sexy fun and secret back and forth, and now he was calling her Luna just like everyone else. It was nearly a letdown.
“I—you just—“ She was panicking. Something in what she’d said was upsetting him. But she didn’t know his story because he hadn’t told her. But then he didn’t have to. Which was the point of what they were doing—just fucking. No attachment. Angry sex.
Angry sex.
She grabbed his tee and pulled as hard as she could to try and get him closer. “I’m sorry.” Adam’s body went stiff, he put on the brakes by making his legs straight and tight. His face was rigid too, jaw hard because he was clenching. She leaned in and kissed it. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing she could think to say.
“We had an…arrangement.”
“I know,” Luna said, dragging her tongue down the stubbled line of his chin before licking his lower lip.
Adam made a gruff noise, moved past her to shove two wedges under the door. He kicked them hard with his work boot to jam th
em in tight, effectively sealing them in. “I didn’t lose a girlfriend.”
“Shh,” she said. This time she was the one piloting this runaway sex thing they had going. Her finger danced along the fly of his black jeans. The ridge of his cock was impressive, and she felt that tingling tickle in her throat that always came with full-blown lust. “Hurry,” she said. “Take it out.”
She was already pushing up her short, summer skirt, kicking off her sandals to ditch her panties and stuffing them in the pocket. She laughed when he said, “Put your shoes back on, though, God knows what’s on this floor.”
So she did. He grabbed her, kissed her, clutching her ass in his hands like he wanted to fuck her and punish her at the same time. Luna bit his lip and felt his cock jerk in her hand when she gripped him. “You’re so warm. So hard,” she said against his throat, breathing in that smell of his that made her feel a little drunk and a lot out of control.
“That’s the plan.” Adam pushed her back against a pile of empty boxes and it stabilized her just a little. From one of the shelving units, a pineapple saluted her with its spiny crown.
They were actually going to do it here. His fingers were in her, his arm curtained by her turquoise and red skirt. He curled his fingers, finger-fucking her roughly but with the perfect amount of gentleness mixed in, until her body grew taut and wetter and she came, crying out into his mouth as he kissed her.
“Good girl,” he said and Luna was ridiculously pleased.
Adam pushed his jeans down to mid thigh, hiked her leg high and found the drenched opening of her sex with the tip of his cock. Then, just to torture her, he dragged her own wetness from her pussy, to her clit, and almost back to her ass, before sliding back to her cunt again. And then he was in, deep and stretching her so that she clutched his broad warm shoulders with urgent hands.
“God you’re good on entry,” she blurted, and her heart leapt to hear him actually laugh. It was a genuine laugh that made her feel inexplicably happy.
He held her, almost suspended but not quite, and thrust into her. Luna tightened her leg to his flank, tried to lean back a bit to let him in deeper. With every angry thrust his pubic bone banged her clit and she felt another flare of pleasure. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you’re right,” she was chanting.
Angry Sex Page 8
