by Sunniva Dee
Me leaving Leon. No matter when, it will impact him. I swallow a lump in my throat and shove the thought away.
Think of the baby.
He comes to me slowly. Bright, such bright eyes rest on mine. There’s grief and hurt in them. But also a trace of… hope?
“What have you done?” I ask, because he’s done something.
He drops next to me on the bed, cups my face with both of those strong, everlasting hands, and dips his mouth to mine for a kiss. His voice is as low as mine when he whispers back, “I went to visit my father.”
I suck in a quick breath. “You did?”
“Yes,” he chuckles, sounding like he can’t believe his own words. “He was awake, and I slipped him a couple more truths about what a dick he is.”
“Good,” I say. According to Kat you should air your grievances. “Was he a happy camper?” I play along, smiling between the smooches he suckles to my lips.
“Not at all,” he admits, tone intimate.
“Tell me everything,” I plead. I need to know; hope sprouts in my crazy heart while my mind tries to wipe it out.
And Leon tells me. Sometimes, I prod with questions, and sometimes he stalls, censoring his words. I understand that I’m getting the PG version of what happened.
“At least you had a conversation,” I say. He hesitates instead of agreeing. “You let him answer that one time,” I specify.
A lopsided smile quirks one side of his mouth. “I did.”
“You know what I like the most of what you said?”
“You found something likable in this?” Leon asks. “Now I’m interested.”
“I did—the philosophy you learned in your martial arts training. Are you visiting him later?” I stroke the side his face. For a second, he blinks and moves his lips into my palm, breathing against it.
“Yes. For you.”
My heart shivers.
“No, Leon. For yourself so you can get better.”
“Is your friend asleep?” he asks instead of answering me.
“Which friend?”
Light fingers outline the shape of my throat and sketch a trail down to my chest. They fan out at the top of a breast, testing its swell. “I miss you, Arria.”
“No-no,” I wheeze out in an effort to keep my voice low. He’s referring to my roommate, and his intentions are clear. “Leon, we’re not taking a chance on her sleeping.”
The man isn’t much for listening. One palm already slinks into a bra cup and forms around my breast, massaging me. I’m pebbling at his touch, and he notices right away. A whispered groan puffs out of him as his mouth goes to my ear. “Do you know how hot this is? I adore your boobs. And I love that even here I can turn you on.”
I heave in air at his words. Leon might not speak romance, but the man could probably make me come with dirty-talk alone. “Stop… tell me more from your visit instead,” I try even though he’s told me everything.
“Or… how about I do this.” Leon lets go of my breast and sinks down on the chair next to my bed. I’m not sure of his intentions, but from the mischief in his eyes, I’m guessing I won’t approve of his next move.
My love sighs out an innocent puff and rests his chin on my shoulder. He’s too close for me to catch his expression, anything beyond his face. I jump when his hands sneak in below the blankets. A palm caresses my stomach over the hospital gown while the other, the other—
Causes goose bumps on its way up my inner thigh until it finds me bare! With our faces inches apart, I hear every word he breathes.
“No panties,” he mouths to me. “Ah. Damn, I miss you.” He strokes across my clit, down my cleft until he finds my entrance.
I don’t object, because his ministrations spellbind me. My nipples shrink again, reacting to his intimate massage.
“I’ll make you pant, baby. No sweet squeals, though,” he enunciates like he’d care. “What would the other lady think?”
“Leon, please…” I trail off. He’s so good at this. My hips move against him, facilitating his access, allowing his fingers to slide in and out in a sure, quiet pace.
“Did you know you’re wet as fuck?” I only catch what he says from the movements of his lips against my skin. “Arria. I want to go deep in you.” He shows me his desire by thrusting two digits into my channel and making me gasp.
“You want it?” he asks hoarsely. “To feel me inside of you?”
Shit, we’re getting louder. “Leon, she can’t notice,” I whisper, and on cue the other girl’s bed squeaks. Crap, she’s so close! “Why—we shouldn’t be…”
“True. You’re being dirty.” He nods his head into my shoulder, and I want to laugh in the midst of my lust.
My need for him skyrockets. I find myself fumble across his chest, down rows of taut abs, but Leon moves away. He gets up, withdraws from me to peer beyond the screen. He appears satisfied with his findings but doesn’t speak when he returns.
In a bright-eyed onceover, he registers my flushed face. Then, he cracks a sexy smirk and drops to his haunches. Leon lifts the comforter high enough to stare at me. I’m suddenly very aware of my position. To facilitate his access, my knees have spread wide on their own. Jesus, this is ridiculous.
I cover my mouth. Make an attempt at closing my legs, but Leon doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He tuts quietly, slides me wider instead and—
Ducks in under the covers to my… Ah!
“Please, don’t.” I pull my calves in around his head in a vise grip, but he’s stronger than me and draws them apart again. Cold air flows over my most private area, and I’m so sensitized right now, I’m about to—
“Sshh, baby.” Two seconds pass, and then his warm mouth covers my clit, licking, sucking, a delighted grunt vibrating from him against my core. He’s merciless, and I’m climbing, my hips moving on their own, helping, helping—
When I fall apart, Leon lets out a pleased puff against my folds. He laps at me until I squirm to get away. Hands tightening around my butt, he holds me still, but his tongue stops, and a quiet chuckle sends a last jolt of pleasure up to my abdomen.
“Jesus, Leon.” I grab his head and try to maneuver him around my very protruding belly. He gets up and bounces onto the mattress next to me. No sign of the turmoil I’d seen in his eyes before taints his irises. God, I love the carefree smile he flashes me. He’s so cocky right now. So full of himself.
Oh.
His lips glisten… from me? Leon dives in and kisses me, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I lift the corner of my sheet to dry his mouth, and of course he catches on, mortifying me further.
“Hmm, what’s this? You don’t like your taste?”
“Sshh, shut up,” I hiss out, causing him to laugh out loud.
“Ah, Arriane, my little prude. I love you.”
My blush lingers as my heart rate picks up.
Three tiny words. With everything he’s done over the last months, this shouldn’t be a surprise. It still is.
Ingela fixes her wild bob in the hand mirror she’s pulled from her purse. Every strand she touches is linen white. To me, it would be wrong to call her a platinum blonde, because all I ever think of with that term is overly processed hair. Ingela’s is natural, probably from the lack of sun and the harsh winters she talks about up there by the North Pole where she was born.
“So tomorrow you go home?” she asks.
“Yep, unless something crazy happens. I’m so ready to get out of here. How are things at Smother?”
“The freshmen have arrived! Oh my God, Arria. Leon has decided we’re cracking down. Jason’s been told to be on the lookout for fake IDs and turn people away. You know how the club fills up without them anyway.”
“Good! Jason’s never been much for spotting those, though. We always remind him,” I say. “Maybe the new guy’s better?”
“Hell no! He’s got his ass stuck up on his… uh.”
“That’s not the expression, but I get what you mean,” I tell her while she whi
ps out pink lipstick and smears it on. She’s all decked out tonight. “Going somewhere?” I ask.
“I’ve got the night off, so I’m heading to the Blood Bank. They’re packing there these days too. Shit, Arria, I’ve never seen longer lines anywhere. The only bummer in Deepsilver? School has started!”
She groans. Then, she narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not registering for anything this semester either, huh?”
“Do I look like I’ll be studying?” I wink.
“Yep, the inside of a, uh, child wagon.”
“Stroller. Yes, definitely.” I smile at the thought of taking walks with a sleeping baby. Hoping that will happen more than rocking him in my arms with earplugs deep in my ear canals. “So. You’ll get to partake in the baby fun, Ingela.”
“Sure, I’ll wheel him around town and lie about him being mine.” She grins wide. Damn, that is a really bright lipstick.
“My hunch? He’ll look nothing like you, Inga.”
She snickers. “Hey, I’ll just say he’s the sputtering image of his dad.”
“Silly.”
Honestly, everything about Ingela brightens your day. She’s funny, fearless, blunt as hell; couple that with her charm, the girl’s a crackup to be around. Which is why my long-term plan is a little easier for me to stomach. “But yeah, I don’t mean just taking him for walks. I’m moving out of Leon’s.”
She gasps. “No way. Does he know?”
That’s her first question. Great.
“I’ll tell him once I’m back at Smother.”
“Why aren’t you staying with him?” She’s frowning to the point of crinkling that tiny button nose she has. Yeah, she’s not in support of my decision.
“You don’t want to live with me again?” I jest, but she’s not in the mood for jokes.
“Arriane, how can you do this to Leon?”
What?
“Ingela, I—” Wow, where do I even start? She saves me the trouble by moving on while I’m still rummaging for an answer.
“Do you have any idea what you’ll be doing to him? He loves you so much, Arria! He talks about you and the baby all the time. He’s always checking his messages, calling you, running off to you, even when the club is freaking packed with people and we’re crazy busy. And now he’s down in the um, bumps, because of his dad and all, and I swear, Arria—I’m sure you’re the only thing keeping him together!”
Where does she get all this from?
“Ingela, you don’t understand. I need to do right by the baby, and I’m too stressed out in this relationship. I might not even carry the baby full term if I don’t—”
“You love Leon like crazy, remember?” Ingela’s voice is stern. “Don’t even go there about being over him, because you’re stupid obvious. You guys are so fucking full of your feelings for each other, it’s disgusting.”
Disgusting?
“If you love someone, you’ve got to hang in there and not chicken down!”
“Chicken out.”
“Whatever, just don’t do that.”
“You really want to keep living with Kat, don’t you?” I can’t help myself. Everything she says makes sense, and guilt over Leon lurks at my decision.
“Changing the subject, much? Kat’s a great roommate. I loved sharing the apartment with you too, but you can’t stop true love, Arriane. I think what you guys have is pretty damn close. Ha!” she snorts out in the end, and I don’t answer. I’m so stunned by her tirade. Sweet, optimistic, silly Ingela has had it with me and my bullshit?
“How great would that be? I’m picturing it now.” She holds her hands up in a square, framing an imaginary future in front of us. “Leon smashed by heartbreak, trying to get through the day at Smother with the love of his life, Arriane, also totally smashed. The only sane one in the house, running the show, would be Christian, because—”
Ingela drills unapologetic eyes into me. “—Christian’s going in the natural direction; Shannon has moved in with him!”
Crap.
Ingela rolls her shoulders like she just finished a workout. “Take it or leave it. Just my… um, musings on the matter.”
“I’d say.”
“Because you kick ass, and I love you.”
“Thanks, Inga. I guess…”
“No, the Felt Hat Day celebration is different from the regular Hat Day celebration,” I explain to Cameron, who’s chewing on a straw. “The only headgear you can wear are hats made from felt.” Really, it’s self-explanatory, and yet by the vacant glint in Christian’s and Jason’s eyes, Cameron isn’t the only one lost.
“Okay, look. We’re not going to deny people entrance for wearing…” I glance at Cam’s absolutely ginormous sombrero. “That, but I want everyone to be aware of what felt is!”
I’m getting bossy these days. I think it’s the general discomfort of my huge belly combined with Leon’s free reins. I’m not cut out to be a supervisor, which is obvious to everyone. Leon usually smirks and calls me “the Petite Menace” while the guys at the club lumber around following my micro-managing bidding.
“They don’t understand, Arriane,” Ingela says now, her eyes arched in sympathy with my sufferings. Then, her gaze flows to where I’m lifting the baby away from his position against my bladder.
“Suck it up, Mom. And plus—if we’re not enforcing felt hats, why insist that the gays understand it?” she asks.
I’m working myself up. I wiggle an actual, true felt hat in front of everyone, a green Robin Hood variety. “Christ, but it’s so easy! Does this even slightly resemble anything you guys are wearing? Look. Look!”
Awkward silence ensues while the boys stare at each other. Jason shrugs from inside his British police helmet. Christian’s Roman laurel wreath? I don’t even know what to say, I’m so mad.
“Not a single one of you!” I pant through the sting in my side where the baby stretches out a sleepy leg.
Leon’s arm comes around me from behind. He leans his chin on my head for a moment. No surprise that I didn’t hear him duck out from his office—my love is always silent. With his chest steady against my back, Leon’s clear, quiet command contrasts starkly with my own impatient outbursts. “Let’s get her paraphernalia up on the walls.”
He points at the heap of tiny felt hats in different colors and felt-hat-shaped strings of lights. The flower-bouquet-style decorations with felt hats mounted on tall florist sticks. I’ve prepped this for weeks, and they’re ruining it!
“Ingela, you know where they go, right?” he asks.
“Yup, where we put all celebratory stuff,” Ingela replies.
“No! We’re half an hour from doors opening, and nothing’s done yet!” I turn in his arms. “Let me—”
“Right, I’m taking your petite menace butt upstairs so they can work and you can have a nap before showtime,” he explains to me.
I’m getting mad at him too, for being overbearing, and in front of the others no less. My back’s aching. I’ve been on my feet down here, pushing against the molasses-slow responses of these seriously challenged men the entire time while Leon’s been on the phone with suppliers. Ingela arrived thirty minutes ago, sixty minutes later than scheduled, and she’s wearing—wearing—
“Ingela, are you serious?” Those jeans, they’re so worn out I swear I can see pink underwear all the way across her bottom. A tiny voice in my head wonders, though: when did I start worrying about this stuff? I’m not the owner of Smother.
I used to laugh at Inga’s antics, and yet now I open my mouth to berate her.
Leon cuts me off, arms still folded around my livid, mountainous self. “The supplier dropped off a batch of complimentary dandelion leaves for what he’s sure is ‘our pet rabbit.’ Let’s head upstairs and test them out, okay? All will be done in time for doors. After your siesta, you’ll be ready for the crowd.”
As he guides me away from the counter and toward the apartment stairs, he swings at the waist to address Ingela. “Uniform slacks before doors.” I turn
to shoot my whimsical friend a lethal glare, but she waves the mislaid pants at us like a black flag.
“Duh, was gonna change.”
Smartass.
Leon’s in the Bag Room. From the sound, he’s kicking the living shit out of the biggest of his punching bags. He hasn’t even taken the time to turn on his hell-wrenching music. Suppressed growls filter out for every blow. Leon returned from visiting his dad, blustered through the door tornado-style, pushed a rough kiss to my teeth, and locked himself in.
Ingela’s choice words at the hospital made an impact on me. I’ve been home at Leon’s place for a week, and I don’t mention to him that I teeter on backing out of our agreement and swapping living spaces with Kat again. He works hard to keep his darkness from upsetting me, so it’s reasonable that I do the same with my fears.
His sister follows up with me every day, keeping a close eye on my state of mind. It would have disturbed me if she weren’t so nice. She comes by, asks how I feel—how Leon feels too—because he’s not divulging much to her. She offers encouragement and the sort of advice you’d expect from an old, wise woman even though she’s only twenty. Going through a lot in your life and consciously assimilating after the blows must be what makes her special.
Katsu and I, we’re different, but we click on a variety of levels, besides our love for Leon. She’s taught me to meditate. I’m trying now, with Leon’s rage a couple of rooms over. The music I turn on is of the soothing, instrumental variety. I crisscross my legs at the far end of the couch before I close my eyes.
I’m not good at this thinking-of-only-one-word thing, but my strength lies in dogged dedication. Within a minute or two, my heart slows down, which is what the baby and I need.
When Leon’s hate rock suddenly booms through the room, I interrupt what I’m doing to shut the door to the hallway. Now, I have to start over again, because the noise launches my stress into overdrive.
Before I can force my mind to obey, I race through all of my worries at once: Leon is unnaturally perceptive. Are his visits at his father’s helping, or is he accepting the punishment so I won’t consider moving out?
